


smoke & mirrors

by theleafpile



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, BAMF Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Crimes & Criminals, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Knife Wounds, Masturbation, Organized Crime, POV Chloe Decker, POV Lucifer, Sex, Threats of Violence, Voice Kink, excessive gift giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-08-20 00:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 80,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16545431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleafpile/pseuds/theleafpile
Summary: [The Mob Boss AU]When notorious crime boss Lucifer Morningstar discovers he owes his life to a nauseatingly selfless homicide detective, he is determined to make amends - turning Chloe Decker’s perfectly serviceable (if somewhat currently miserable) life upside down. [COMPLETE]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonatoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonatoms/gifts), [wollfgang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wollfgang/gifts).



> title (aside from the obvious) is from Konoba "Smoke and Mirrors," whose video can be found on my Mob Boss AU playlist here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwP5b3VzH1kWFrUBqykp0TFLzCf7Kbwd_
> 
> this AU was originally the brain child of @moonatoms and @thewollfgang ; without them, this would have never been possible. I hope I've put enough spin on the original idea to make it my own. Feel free to yell at me about Lucifer on my tumblr @ theleafpile
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Lucifer Morningstar was in love. The curves over her smooth frame, the sleek silhouette, the way her slip of silver caught and reflected the dim light – there was no way he was going to leave without her. Through the thick warehouse walls neither he nor the man standing at a respectful distance could hear the waves crashing against the dock, or the din of the sprawling City of Angels. Lucifer prowled. 

“Tell me,” he purred. 

The man took a stuttering breath. Lucifer’s gaze flickered over to him, taking in his tailored suit, shined shoes, impeccably slicked-back hair, and nervous flop sweat, dampening a ring around the white collar of his dress shirt. The warehouse was cool, and the day hadn’t been warm. He had no reason to sweat so profusely. They’d had dealings before. “Aston Martin DB4,” the man began, steadying himself. “1962 with Vantage engine, topping out at 135 miles per hour.”

“136,” Lucifer corrected.

The man swallowed. His hands fluttered in front of him, unsure whether to grasp one another and apparently deciding otherwise. “136. Yes. The series five has more interior space than the four, which someone with your - your stature would prefer. Sir.”

Lucifer opened the right side door and bent gracefully at the waist, looking over the cream-colored leather interior and walnut-accented dash. Manual, of course, a coupe. Nothing in black was available, a rare occurrence in his world, but he was willing to make sacrifices.

“Recessed taillights,” the man continued, “3.7 liter engine, independent front suspension and live rear axle. Only forty made in this style.”

Lucifer shut the door gently, though the bang caused the man – James Talbert – to flinch. He bade the gentleman to open the boot, and he stumbled over himself to quickly comply. The expensive cologne he wore couldn’t cover up the distinct scent of fear pulsing off him in waves.

Lucifer made a show of inspecting the trunk. Clean, of course. Whoever owned his car before took immaculate care of it. More than he ever would. 

“If you would be so kind,” Lucifer said, gesturing toward the dark interior. 

Mr. Talbert froze. “Mr. Morningstar?”

“Please,” he said, betraying his thinning patience. 

“I-I’m sorry – you want me to –?”

Lucifer grinned. “Get in the boot, yes.” He waited a beat. “I am a very busy man, Mr. Talbert, as you can imagine.”

Mr. Talbert touched the edge of the trunk, his movements jerky and unsure, then crawled inside.

“A little further back, if you will.” He scooted. Lucifer frowned. “Three, you think? If you smash them together a bit?”

“S-Sir?” 

Lucifer leaned a hip on a taillight and made a show of inspecting his watch. Nearing eleven at night. “Not that I am so inclined, especially not in such a beautiful machine as this,” he chuckled – Mr. Talbert tried to smile along – “but it is good to know, in any case, how many bodies a vehicle can reasonably move at any given time. You are how tall, Mr. Talbert?”

He swallowed. “About six foot?”

Lucifer tisked.

“Five-ten. One-seventy,” he added, anticipating Lucifer’s next question. 

“Very good.” Mr. Talbert sighed, relieved, and made to get out. Lucifer slammed the trunk shut. “Maybe four or five, if you cut them up first,” he said, mostly to himself. Mr. Talbert began banging on the lid. Then screaming. “That was fast,” he mused. “Now don’t go damaging anything in there,” he yelled, playfully tossing up the keys he slipped from Talbert’s pocket. “I insist on purchasing this vehicle in the condition you’ve provided.”

Mr. Talbert quieted. 

The screams started up again when Lucifer hit the highway, which he drowned out by turning up the music.

 

 _Los Angeles._ Lucifer breathed in the cool night air, pushing the car to its top speed. The highway stretched, seemingly endless, weaving as it followed the coast. Sharp cliff sides blocked out the glare of the city, leaving a faint glow in the sky above and barely touching the never-ending darkness over the ocean. He hoped Mr. Talbert had the good sense not to kick out a taillight. Not that the corrupt little organization that was the L.A.P.D. would ever _usually_ pull him over, but this was a new car, and he couldn’t blame them for not knowing.

Well. He _could_ , and make an example of whatever unlucky sod tried to give him a ticket, but that was how his father ran the business. Not Lucifer.

He turned into the city, reluctantly slowing as traffic caught up with him. L.A. was the perfect playground for someone of his talents. Full of eager people willing to do anything to make it. Hell, they’d sell their soul to get rid of unsightly tummy fat. Exchanging favors, coordinating exotic and illicit imports for the obscenely wealthy, distributing narcotics, and offering protection from other, less organized gangs was all in a day’s work. Lucifer enjoyed sticking a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. It spread him thin, but left nearly everyone who was anyone in his city with his number on their phone. 

A speedy left turn had Mr. Talbert screaming.

“Oh, do relax,” he said, aware that there was no way the man could hear him.

The deeper Lucifer got into Hollywood, the more the nightlife picked up. Those unfortunates still waiting in queues outside turned their heads and watched as he passed, more than a few recognizing the man himself. As they should. The Devil of Los Angeles was a good friend to have, and a better one to keep.

He pulled up outside Lux, inviting more smiles and coy looks from those waiting to get inside, and tossed the keys to the valet.

“Ah, a moment,” he told the man, pausing mid-step to return to the car. The valet opened the trunk at his bidding and out tumbled Mr. Talbert into the gutter. “Now that’s better,” he said, and with a nod, the valet shut the trunk and slipped into the driver’s seat. Soon the car disappeared around the corner, to be parked no doubt in the garage below the building. Those in line knew better than to make any move to help. 

Lucifer shook his head at the trembling figure. He pulled at his cuffs, ensuring his suit lay impeccably on his slim figure, and waited for Mr. Talbert to catch his breath. When he did finally look up, Lucifer smiled. “I’ll take it,” he said, offering a hand. Mr. Talbert warily allowed the club owner to help him upright, but Lucifer didn’t let go. “I would know who made you an offer to kill me, however. Not that you ever would,” he assured. “Nor could.”

Mr. Talbert gaped. It was unattractive. Lucifer yanked the man closer as though to embrace him, then reached around to his lower back. He slipped it beneath the suit jacket and retrieved the glock, holding him close. 

“Really quite sloppy, Mr. Talbert. You should have considered an overcoat to help hide its outline. Alexander McQueen has some lovely designs for the winter season. But relying on a Tom Ford?” He turned to whisper in his ear, eliciting a shiver. “Amateur.”

He let him go. One of the bouncers on the door retrieved the weapon, and Lucifer pulled the red pocket square from his jacket to wipe his hands. “The Armenians?” he guessed. Mr. Talbert hesitantly nodded. Lucifer sighed. “Honestly. Sloth is a sin, you know.” He refolded the square, deciding, and tucked it back into his pocket. “I will accept the car as an apology, with your assurance no such incident will occur again. So I won’t be forced to go after your lucrative business, you understand. Or your family,” he added. Mr. Talbert’s outraged stuttering promptly stopped. “Excellent. Good evening.”

He brushed past, leaving Mr. Talbert in the street (and now, he knew, at the mercy of those who had hired him), and entered his club. A shame, really. He’d have to find someone else to accommodate his vehicular-related whims. Lucifer tried to spare the thought no more than the length it took to down one drink. Just another example of a universal truth, one that was difficult to learn and easy to forget.

Lucifer Morningstar could never trust anyone.

Ever.

 

Lux was tailored to Lucifer’s tastes, as was everything else in his life. He stood at the top of a set of winding stairs, overlooking the milling crowd below like a king surveying his kingdom. A live band played on the small stage, accompanied by a sprightly saxophonist. His guests, as well as the dancers in their strappy black numbers, seemed to be enjoying themselves. And why wouldn’t they be? Lucifer shook away whatever feeling was threatening to make itself known. Nothing was wrong. 

The strings of pale bulbs above glittered like stars, reflecting off the gleaming piano below, crystal tumblers of the city’s finest whiskey and other mixed drinks, women’s jewelry and men’s watches. A faint purple tinge enveloped the room, otherworldly. Lucifer made his way to the bar and accepted a drink from his right hand woman, his _capo bastone,_ whom he wouldn’t call a friend, not exactly, not in this business. But something like one. 

Maze poured him another as he slipped off his jacket, her black nails tapping the counter like claws.

“Why the face, Mazikeen?” he asked. “You look like I took away your favorite sex toy.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’m tired.”

He scoffed and threw back the drink. “You? Never. I find myself lacking in patience tonight. Out with it.”

Whatever she wanted to say, she kept behind her teeth. “Couple people here who want ‘an audience’ with the local Mr. Big.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

She lifted her hands in mock surrender. “Should I tell them to come back?”

Lucifer turned around lazily to survey the room. A few eyes met his, none that couldn’t wait, until a flash of silver caught his eye at the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, yeah,” said Maze, bored. “Delilah wanted to see you, too.”

“Whatever for?” he asked, not bothering to listen for an answer. Delilah smiled when she saw him looking, and shook her shoulders a little to make her 20’s inspired dress shimmer. She arched an eyebrow, inviting. He lifted his glass to toast her taste. “Tell the others I’ll be in touch later.”

 

*

The night draped over the city like some great nocturnal feline, languid and thick. The balcony doors of the penthouse were open, sending a breeze over the black marble, cooling their exposed, sweat-shining skin. Lucifer made her smile and shiver at the same time, white hot and ice cold. She knew it was a dangerous game, to be in bed with a man like this – _the Devil_ – but she couldn’t stop herself, even if she did want to. Delilah knew she had never been one much for self control. And it was rare she got him all to herself. She was more than happy to take advantage of it. Usually their business was conducted in the privacy of a crowded room, his status keeping others at bay while she whispered her news in his ear, a hand on his thigh to disguise their dealings as a prelude to something else.

To have his full attention was intoxicating. 

He had her face down on his black, expensive silk sheets – she didn’t even want to think of the price – all warm and slick where they twisted up in them, her tanned skin pale in comparison. They had finally made it to the bed, at least. Lucifer was intent on taking his time, savoring every inch of her, a promise that already had her aching for the night stretched ahead of them. He pushed deeper into her, a hand splayed on her lower back, pinning her in place. She squirmed. She could feel him smile against the back of her neck, his breath hot and ragged, and if that doesn’t do it – knowing she’s made him sound like that – _God,_ she couldn’t move an inch, couldn't adjust to him – and there was _a lot_ of him to adjust to – all she could do was let the whine rise in her throat until he chuckled darkly at her desperation.

Her hair was a mess, same as her makeup, but she had the nagging suspicion that Lucifer liked that about her. Her messiness. Maybe it was because he was so pristine and put-together all the time that he needed someone like her. Someone willing to be messy. _Invaluable,_ he’d called her, once. Someone not only willing, but happy to get in bed with whomever he suggested (and a few he didn’t) and report back her findings. Rivals, allies, enemies – it was all the same to her. 

His hand lifted to follow her spine until it snaked around to her collarbone and she dared to lift her hips. He bottomed out inside her suddenly and pressed his forehead against her, a throaty moan escaping from him. He cut off her own gasp with his hand around her throat, like a reflex.

 _Dangerous._

He relaxed his grip but she held his hand there, enjoying the rush. In a smooth motion he lifted them until her back was flush to his chest and they could move together like a wave on the ocean. He nuzzled his nose into her ear, then moved a lock of sweaty hair off her neck to bite the spot he’d bared. She pulsed around him, warmth and heaviness coiling deep inside her, and lifted her hands above her head to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling until all his sweat-dampened curls were free and loose. 

“Naughty girl,” he whispered, and his voice – that delicious voice, that accent – _fuck_. He slipped a hand between her legs, feeling where they were locked together, and the friction was just right – _god, right - fuck -_

_\- there -_

 

*

“Delilah,” he murmured later into the soft skin of her shoulder, when they were both spent and facing one another, half-tangled in sheets. He pressed a kiss there, then feigned seriousness. “I’m not sure which one of is getting the better deal, here.” 

She pushed him away until he flopped back, laughing, a hand bouncing on his bare stomach. “Ego, much?” 

“Always,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. She watched him for a lingering moment. 

“You seem…” she began, but can’t bring herself to finish.

“What?” 

“… sad,” she ventured. She probably shouldn’t. Should aim to keep things professional. 

He lifted a forearm to cover his eyes. “Just tired, I think,” he said, and she knows he’s lying when he looks at her again. He turned over onto his side to face her. 

“Busy day at the office, dear?” she joked. His gaze flickers, but he doesn’t answer, even to tease her back. Oh well. Business it is. “Okay.” She snuggled deeper into his pillow, a mischievous glitter in her eyes. “Whose secrets do you want first?”

 

Lucifer awoke slowly, awareness filtering in as hazily as the morning light through the windows. His face was mashed into the mattress and an arm dangled over the edge of the bed, listless. He opened his eyes and blearily looked out into the rest of his penthouse. The truth was, he _was_ tired. A kind of tired that blow and alcohol couldn’t fix, hadn’t been able to fix for the last few… weeks? Months? Longer? He strained to remember a time when he hadn’t felt hollow. It hadn’t bothered him then as it did now. What changed? Had anything changed? Was that the problem?

The light was merciful – that, or he wasn’t hungover, which would be a miracle in itself – and his apartment clean and empty. 

He let his imagination wander. A woman materialized, shimmering in her incompleteness, fretting behind the bar which he imagined as a kitchen. A woman, yes. Not that he was particularly picky when it came to gender. She was dressed in one his white shirts and a pair of socks, something she just threw on after getting out of bed as not to be cold. She was making them breakfast. Not because she had to, or was paid to, but because she wanted to. Not for him. _Them. _Hair down. Blonde, maybe. Always liked blondes. Humming to herself.__

__He wished he could see her face. Know her. Just once._ _

__He shut his eyes._ _

__It was nothing but a dream. One that couldn’t belong to a man like him. _Lucifer Morningstar hurts people,_ he reminded himself, the words swirling in his head. They were old words, a mantra from a time when he had to convince himself of their truth. Not anymore._ _

__Now he knew they were true._ _

__

__Lucifer shook himself out of his pity-party and the bed, steeled himself against the day, and went to work._ _

__

__A second meeting with Jimmy Barnes – the human stain would not leave him alone – regarding the signing of some boy band’s record deal was the first business of the day. Lucifer had stopped listening halfway through, quickly learning everything he needed to but allowing the man to prattle on just the same. A quick call with Jimmy Cho to check in that the truce he had with the Chinese wasn’t straining; he had several shipments coming through their holdings and had no desire for his “goods” to be held hostage while they engaged in another pissing contest. An employee – he refused to call them _soldiers_ – informed him that James Talbert had been declared missing by his wife earlier that morning. Then a back-room lunch meeting with a judge to pay them off for dismissing the case against one of his captains – a trumped up charge, anyway, he hadn’t even been at the warehouse when it was raided (eighteen months ago, now, how time flies). _ _

__Maze set up the few meetings he had ignored last night and took them at Lux, Lucifer sitting spread out in a booth like it was a velvet throne. They wanted small things. Easy favors. Lucifer’s family had always frowned on his small-time ventures, but he couldn’t resist. What was introducing people here and there, greasing a few palms, making a few small business loans when the end result was infinitely multiplying word-of-mouth and a population that knew they could go to him for help? (As well as the ability to call in favors as needed, which always came in handy). Truth be told, Lucifer had always enjoyed helping out the little guy. It gave him quite a rush. And they were always so thankful – unlike professionals, whose only desires involved having _more.__ _

__In other words, everything was moving like clockwork. Lucifer did not think himself a watchmaker, though he certainly admired their work – if his Lange & Söhne collection was anything to go by – but he understood the value of time. Perhaps more than most. It only took a second in this business – one second – for something to change. An expression, a hesitation, a missed phone call – all could mean life or death. He had spent the last five years in Los Angeles building his empire. It would take but a moment for it to crumble, and for the vermin to appear, eager to dismantle all he had worked so hard for among themselves. _ _

__But, for now, Los Angeles was the Devil’s playground._ _

__Lucifer called the day a success and, as a rare treat, took him and Maze out to dinner. The chef at the steakhouse was an artist in the kitchen (also a degenerate gambler who owed him a favor), and after sharing two bottles of wine both were feeling pleasantly at ease. He waved off the desert menu but Maze ordered some dark chocolate truffle thing, and so he had nothing to do but lean back in his seat and wait. He had noticed the blonde sitting a few tables down (he had eyes, you know), facing away from him and toward the door. Maze had no expectation of being his sole interest for the evening, and while he kept an eye on the woman and her dullard companion, Maze was happily eye-fucking an equally-delicious male specimen somewhere behind him. Every so often the blonde would shake her head, sending her long, wavy hair tumbling down to nearly her waist, over a gold-colored sweater that sparkled when it caught the candlelight._ _

__Lucifer didn’t like what he was seeing. The man spoke low, too low to make out, but there was an insistence to his movements Lucifer detested, because it was making the woman obviously uncomfortable. She pushed back her chair, getting ready to stand up, but the man stood instead, fishing out his wallet while she protested. He left a few bills on the table, said what Lucifer was sure he thought to be reassuring, and disappeared._ _

__The woman reached to grab her clutch from where it was hanging off the back of the chair, and Lucifer saw her profile properly for the first time. The cut of her jaw was as sharp as his designer suits, but her features were soft: a rounded nose and plush lips, colored in a deep red for the date. She kept her eyes downcast, focused on her task, and even from the distance he could see the weariness she held in her shoulders._ _

__Lucifer sprung up, lifted a hand in reassurance for Maze, and strode purposefully over to the woman before folding himself down carefully in the seat the other man had so callously abandoned. The woman raised her eyebrows in shock and looked around for where he had come from._ _

__“Lucifer. Morningstar,” he introduced, with a smile. No recognition flashed in her eyes. Her bright, heaven-blue eyes._ _

__His smile widened._ _

__“Can I help you?” she asked, all business. Ah. One of the complicated ones._ _

__“Yes,” he stated matter-of-factly, folding his hands on the table. “You could do me the honor of sharing your name.”_ _

__She blinked in amazement, then shook her head and laughed. “Yeah, okay, buddy. Whatever shtick you got going on here, you can bring somewhere else, alright?” She stood, and he quickly followed suit. “I really don’t need this,” she said, more to herself, opening her clutch._ _

__He leaned closer, curious, holding his hands behind his back. “What do you need?” His focus completely on her, he didn’t register Maze exploding out of her seat. “Anything you des–”_ _

__Suddenly, the woman pushed herself against his shoulder, knocking him off balance as several shots rang out. Lucifer tumbled down, stunned, his back striking the chair before he hit the floor. Pain shot through him. He had just enough time to recognize a frazzled Mr. Talbert before Maze was leaping onto him like an attack dog. Lucifer righted himself while others around them fled, accidentally placing his hand in something warm and slippery._ _

__He inspected it (before doing something silly like wiping it on his pants), and recognized it immediately._ _

__Blood._ _

__He quickly patted his torso down with his other hand, and in his confusion spotted the woman – whose name he still didn’t know – convulsing on the floor beneath the table. He dragged her out by her ankles into the open and she did something he didn’t expect._ _

__She laughed._ _

__The laugh was cut short when she gasped with pain, her right hand pawing ineffectually at her left shoulder. Lucifer had no medical training but he'd been in similar enough situations, and so immediately shook open a clean cloth napkin from the table and pressed it down heavily where the blood was coming out thickest. She placed a hand weakly atop his own._ _

__Maze grabbed his shoulder, barely sparing a glance at the bleeding woman. “We need to go. Now.”_ _

__“She saved my life,” he told her._ _

__“Lucifer,” Maze started._ _

__“She saved my life, Mazikeen,” he repeated. He wasn’t sure which one of the three of them was more stunned._ _

__“So we’ll send her a gift basket,” Maze responded dryly. “Move.”_ _

__The woman patted his hand. He moved closer. “I don’t want to die,” she said, her words struggling to come out clear._ _

__He tried for a reassuring smile. “I won’t let you,” he promised. Her hand fell away as she fell unconscious._ _

__Lucifer lifted a chin toward her clutch, focused and serious. “I want a name.” He locked his elbows and pushed down harder. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, but it may have only seemed that way, given the amount covering them both. Maze dutifully spilled the contents of her purse on the table and sorted through them. “Chloe Decker,” she read. Then: “Shit. She’s a cop.”_ _

__The sound of an approaching ambulance had both their heads snapping toward the front door. A few bystanders huddled by the entrance to the kitchen. Lucifer bade one of them over – their waiter – and made him take Lucifer’s place._ _

__“We were never here,” Maze told the young man. “Understand?” He nodded._ _

__Lucifer rose, grabbed another napkin and wiped what he could off his hands before letting it drop to the floor. “If she dies –” the man’s gaze snapped up – “I’m holding you personally responsible.”_ _

__The young man swallowed. Lucifer quickly strode over to the chef, dazed and looking out into the mess, and pulled out a stack of bills from inside his chest pocket. “For the damages,” he explained. As the chef reached for it, Lucifer pulled back. “Not a word,” he reminded the man. Like the waiter, he slowly nodded. Lucifer gave him the bills, which he tucked out of sight, then he and Maze darted through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the night._ _

__“Talbert?” he confirmed._ _

__“What do you think?”_ _

__Lucifer seethed. “That’s the last time I let somebody off with a warning.”_ _

__He caught the glint of Maze’s teeth under a streetlight. “There he is.”_ _

__He wasn’t sure what she meant, but it sounded a lot like awe. He’d happily take that from her any day. When they had another block between them and the police, he asked “Do you think she’ll be alright?”_ _

__“And there he goes,” Maze muttered._ _

__“I promised,” Lucifer said, stunned. He didn’t hear Maze’s aside. His mind was whirling with thoughts of blue and gold, of her surprise at his approach, like getting hit on wasn’t something that happened to her; of her shoddy dinner with whoever-that-was; of the fact that her last act might have been to save his life; of the blood; of vengeance._ _

_Righteous_ vengeance.

__It was going to be so, so sweet._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed the story so far! I'll be updating every Friday. Thanks for reading! <3


	2. Chapter 2

The hospital made Chloe stay for two days before discharging her. A nurse wheeled her to the front doors where her mother was waiting to give her a ride home. Not _her_ home, but one of her mother’s residences, a beach house she and Trixie were staying in while working out whatever the hell was going on between her and Dan. Since separating meant, you know. Separating. 

They passed the gift shop, with its fresh flowers, teddy bears, and get well soon balloons on display, and through the rotating glass doors, she spotted her mother.

Her mother, who was not alone.

She was laughing that flirty sort of throwing-the-hair-back laugh Chloe recognized from her time joining her at meetings around the acting circuit. Penelope had even tried to teach her daughter the move, but her attempts were so abysmal that the woman was downright shocked whenever Chloe told her she was dating someone (let alone getting married). Closer now, Chloe could see her leaning against a car that was definitely not her own, something old and silver, and as the nurse pushed her outside, gaining their attention, all she could do was stare.

Which was significantly less intimidating when being treated by an invalid, with a clear baggie of your own bloodied clothes on your lap. The nurse made quick work of the footrests and helped Chloe upright, all of which were unnecessary and made her neck and face flush red with embarrassment. The man – what was his name, again? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Entitled? – didn’t seem to mind. She ignored him in favor of her mother.

“Mom,” she said, after thanking the nurse. “You ready to go?”

Penelope shot her a look – _be nice_ – which Chloe resented. “Now you remember Mr. Morningstar, don’t you, dear?”

Chloe braced herself for the inevitable. It happened sometimes, when those in the protection services saved people’s lives, as though it wasn’t part of their job description. The incessant, unnecessary thanking, the spilling of life stories, the talk of how her act showed them they needed to turn their life around, yada yada. “Yep,” Chloe said, popping the word off her lips. “Ready?”

But Mr. Morningstar did none of those things. He didn’t exactly look like someone who was predisposed to gushing, but she was admittedly a little surprised when he didn’t push himself off his (probably very expensive) car, but only adjusted a cufflink and waited for them to finish.

“Mr. Morningstar has so generously offered to give you a ride home – you know I have that meeting with my agent today, honey, and it would give me a little extra time to –”

Chloe yanked her mother a step away. “Are you serious? You want me to get in the car with a stranger? Mom.” She lowered her voice. “I’m a cop, remember? I know this crap never ends well? He could be, like –” she spared a look over her shoulder. The man merely lifted an eyebrow. “– clinically insane.”

Penelope wasn’t having it. She looked at the man and chuckled at her daughter’s antics. “What’s he going to do? Save your life again?” she stage-whispered.

“Save _my_ – _I_ saved _his_ life.”

“And it’s my understanding he repaid the favor. Oh, Chloe,” she said, holding her daughter’s face between her hands. “You know your job scares me half to death. And you weren’t even working when you got – got shot,” she managed. Tears pooled in her eyes, which she quickly blinked away. Chloe’s resolve immediately melted. “Now,” she said, whirling them both back around, “let this nice gentleman take you home. I put some food in the fridge for you, enough for the next couple of days, and Dan said he’s going to pick up whatever the doctor prescribed from the pharmacy later today, okay?”

Chloe stood, open-mouthed and gaping, while her mother allowed the man – whom she must have met less than twenty minutes ago – kiss her hand, and then she was off.

He quickly went to the other side of the car and opened the door, and it took her a moment to register that it was the passenger side. She sighed. “Mr. Morningstar -” 

“Lucifer, please,” he injected. 

She stood her ground. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. I’m sure anybody else would have done the same.”

He looked as though she shot him in the leg. “They absolutely would not,” he said, outraged. “You shouldn’t discount your actions so readily, Mrs. Decker. You have notable instincts.”

“Ms.,” she corrected reluctantly. It was such an automatic reaction that she didn't realize how it would be taken. 

He grinned. “Really?” he asked, almost purring.

She swallowed her pride. “Really. Sort of.”

He came back around, and though not quite invading her personal space, she could smell his cologne – a lingering scent, not overpowering, something spicy and dark – and appreciate the cut of his suit, which she recognized was a very rich, dark blue and not the black she initially thought it to be while under bright hospital lights.

Chloe was on way too many painkillers, she thought as she acquiesced to get in the car, something Sober-and-Sensible Chloe would have never done. She told him her address and they turned out of the hospital into late-morning traffic. The open convertible top helped to keep her from slipping into a comfortable daze. 

“I’m sorry,” she began. “About my mom. She’s like a hawk. Probably took one look at you and began dreaming of her Christmas list.”

“I do seem to have that effect on women,” he agreed. 

It took her an extra second to realize he wasn’t really joking. She studied the confident way he handled the machine. “So what do you do?” 

“This and that,” he answered quickly, then fell silent. She watched the traffic. “I own a club. Lux. Have you been? Though I’m sure I would have remembered if you had.”

“A nightclub?” He nodded. “Not really my scene.”

“I thought you said you were a police officer?”

As though one precluded interest in the other. She thought back, but most of what happened was a blur. “I don’t think so.”

“You must have,” he said, in a leading way she recognized as common to interrogators. It reminded her of all she had been trying very hard not to think about over the last day. Paperwork, investigation into the shooting, desk-duty. Bleh. 

“I’m a detective,” she corrected, with a sigh.

“Detective,” he said, savoring the word. _“Detective.”_

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

 

They pulled up to the house and Lucifer helped her out, careful of her left side. Her arm was carefully strapped inside a sling, and it hurt, sure, but she really didn’t need everyone treating her like some kind of fragile victim. She allowed him to open the door for her and carry her bag inside, missing the way he surreptitiously opened and inspected the tag on her ruined sweater. She went to the fridge first and snorted at her mother’s version of grocery shopping: several to-go cartons from various restaurants crowded the upper shelves, plus a fresh bottle of orange juice (though God knows where she picked that up). Lucifer was apparently quite comfortable with making himself at home. He was already in the middle of the living room before she could turn and offer him something to drink. 

He pointed up at a framed poster. “Your mother is Penelope Decker?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I meet so many people,” he explained, and she got that he really meant it. “I thought I recognized her. Had I know that was her – goodness. I’d have had to have her sign my chest." He waggled his eyebrows. "Or something else.”

 _Alright, buddy._ “Well, um. Thanks for the ride,” she said, ushering him toward the door.

He planted his feet. “But you never answered my question.”

“Question?”

“At _Paradiso._ And who was that square-headed dimwit who left you so unpleasantly alone?”

She let go of his arm. “My ex. What question?”

“What you desire, of course.” 

She waited for more, but none came. He was serious. “What I desire?” she repeated, trying to think back to when he could have asked. “As in _more than anything else in this world?_ ”

“Precisely.”

This was certainly not the conversation she thought she’d be having today. Oh, Sober-and-Sensible Chloe, where did thou art’s ass sneak off to? But, she thought about it. She really did. 

Everything that came to mind weren’t things at all. Nothing some spoiled playboy partier with too much time on his hands could fix, anyway. She didn’t need money, no more so than anybody else, not that she’d ever take it if he offered. She was alive, which a couple minutes and inches could have changed. She had her daughter, who was, she hoped, happy and healthy. She had her job, which was going to be a headache for a while, sure, but she helped people, which is what she wanted. 

“Nothing,” she answered truthfully. “I have everything I need.”

Dumbfounded (and apparently stunned into silence), Lucifer allowed her to see him out the door and, presumably, out of her life forever.

 

Forever lasted about 24 hours.

The next afternoon Trixie answered the door to a bald-headed man who looked like he crushed skulls for a living, much to her mother’s admonishment. Trixie hid behind Chloe’s legs while the man held up a transparent dry-cleaning bag, showcasing there was nothing inside but a sweater. A gold sweater. The same one that was now sitting in the bottom of her trash bin, having been cut nearly to ribbons by paramedics.

“This isn’t –” 

“Mr. Morningstar sends his apologies,” the man said. Chloe gingerly took the bag. The man pulled out his phone as he walked away, leaving Chloe in the doorway. She watched as he sent a text and then entered into the passenger side of a heavily-tinted Lincoln, and waited until the car left before returning inside.

Trixie, ever helpful, took the bag from her mother and held it up until the sweater caught the light. “Is Mr. Star the man you got hurt for?” she asked, twirling it around. “He’s nice.”

“Morningstar,” Chloe dreamily corrected. Then she came back to her senses, and tickle-chased her daughter out of the room.

And _that_ , she thought, had to be it.

 

Chloe managed to reach the end of the week before feeling the need to go into the precinct: a personal best for someone with her work ethic. Even her ex, who chose the job over her and Trix, admired that about her, though less and less when it got in the way of his own. Her face colored as a few of the rookies applauded her return, and Samantha at the front desk had a card signed from everybody wishing her well that they hadn’t managed to get to the hospital in time. She sucked in a breath as she approached the lieutenant’s office, only to be accosted by said ex before she could make it.

“Hey, Chlo. You don’t need to be here.”

“I know. I just – I needed to get out of the house. The lieutenant in?”

Dan stretched to look over his shoulder. “I think so. But I don’t know if Pierce is really going to be interested in what you have to say right now.”

Her body tightened defensively. “What? Why?”

Dan sighed. Ever-suffering, this guy. _Super_ attractive to be seen as a burden all the time. “I just think he’d want you to take a few more days, is all. They’re still investigating the shooting. You’d think the guy putting a bullet in his own head would be the end of it.”

Count on Dan to see a case as open and shut. “They could be investigating the shooting for months. What does that have to do with me being here?”

Dan put up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying. I know you, Chloe. You’re going to march in there and the first thing out of your mouth is going to be you asking when you can come back to work.”

“And?”

“Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chloe pushed past him. Warn her about what? She barged into the lieutenant’s office with a bit more force than necessary. The lieutenant briefly looked up from his computer, which was about all the greeting she was going to get. 

“Take a seat,” he said.

“I’d rather stand, if that’s alright.”

He shrugged his stupid, massive shoulders that were definitely not attractive at all. Like his square jaw. Or blue eyes. His dickish attitude more than warned her away from that pile of daddy issues. “The investigation’s ongoing. You’re on desk duty until medically deemed fit for duty. You’ve got physical therapy to finish and I contacted the psych team to do an eval. And firearm proficiency testing.”

Chloe let it all sink in. “How long?”

Pierce spared her a glance, a quick once-over. “Eight weeks. You can assist on cases but I don’t want you in the field for at least that amount of time. It’s not negotiable,” he said, at her opening her mouth in rebuttal. “Go home, Decker. Take your weekend. Heal up. See you Monday.”

Chloe tried (and failed) not to storm out of the office. By the time she made it back to her desk her anger had turned back onto herself, and she felt like a failure. She saved a man’s life, and now it felt like she was being punished for it. Damn fucking crazy shooters, damn lone wolves, damn Dan for taking her out to a fancy restaurant for a “one more shot” dinner (oh, the irony), damn Morningstar for trying to be nice because he probably felt guilty as hell, just – damn it all. This town was full of criminals and try as she might Chloe was always one step behind them, always at the mercy of waiting for a bad guy to kill someone before she could catch them, when so much damage had already been done and could never be undone. And she saw this shit every day. Was it so much to ask for one night off? Sometimes she felt less like a protector and more like a cleaner taking out the trash. And so many times the trash crawled right back out onto the street through legal loopholes. It was dangerous for a cop to think that way, she knew. She’d seen plenty of beat cops and detectives take the spirit of the law and stretch it until it served their own purposes. Chloe was never going to be one of them. Somebody had to have some morals in this damn town. 

She just wished the weight wasn’t all on her shoulders.

 

The bouncy new forensic transfer caught up with Chloe just as she had resigned herself to go home. She’d spent the last hour fussing around her desk, replying to emails, calling back folks who hadn’t got the memo that she had been on medical leave, making sure that there wasn’t anything pending for the weekend and generally trying not to feel useless. The small, frightfully cheerful woman saddled up to Chloe’s desk just as she was standing up (as though she had been lying in wait) with a grin on her that could only mean trouble.

“What would you say…” she began, conspiratorially, “to a couple of young, beautiful women going out for a celebratory drink, for their friend who just got back after being an enormous hero?” 

Chloe was fairly certain you could power a toaster with the energy this woman – Ella, she remembered – had coming off her. “I’d say… ‘have fun’?”

Ella beamed. “Great! And yeah, I know, mixing painkillers with alcohol is a definite recipe for disaster, but one drink isn’t going to kill you if a bullet can’t.” She must have read something on Chloe’s face, because she quickly backtracked. “Not that you were in any danger – I mean of course you were in danger, but you, you know, it’s not like it was _miracle_ you survived or anything – not to diminish the pain and fear and all that that comes with, uh, you know –”

“Ella.”

“- a near death experience, if that’s what it felt like, but to you, you know, decade on the force or whatever, it’s –”

_“Ella.”_

“–probably… not a… biggie.”

Chloe took mercy on the poor girl. She knew she’d left her family behind to come out to L.A. to be with someone. A brother, she thought. Must be lonely, being in a big city with the only people you know being those you work with. And after the news of desk-duty, Chloe could admit she could use a drink. “One drink.” 

Ella bounced happily. “Tonight okay? We were already kind of planning on going out anyway – me and Sam and van Cassel, from evidence, you know her, is seven okay?”

“Seven… people?” Chloe asked, alarmed.

“Seven o’clock,” Ella corrected. “On the D.L., Cas’ is trying to get preggers, so she’s been our D.D. the last few times.”

Chloe rubbed her shoulder, and agreed. Ella spoke of a couple of favorite haunts of her little girl-group, an alarming amount of karaoke making an appearance, and told her to wear something, in her own words, “poppin’.” 

Which is how, a few hours later, showered and hair styled to lay casually over the very un-sexy hospital-blue nylon strap that held up her arm, she stood in front of her closest and tried not to grumble audibly at the collection. Trixie lay on her stomach on the bed, acting as judge, jury, and tiny executioner. Chloe had taped a small square of gauze over the wound, more for aesthetic purposes at a week out, and nothing in her significantly un-poppin wardrobe cried out injury chic.

“Blue,” Trixie suggested. _For the nylon._ “To match your eyes.”

“Blue, hmm. Let’s see.” She dug through and held up a dress she usually reserved for Christmas parties, a bit out of style with its sequins but still perfectly serviceable. Trixie wrinkled her nose. Chloe put it back. Another: thin-strapped and a bit more on the silver side, but Trixie deemed the full-length skirt too long. Concerned a bit at her seven year old being worried about her mother showing off more leg, nevertheless she dutifully returned it to the closest. A bit of searching led to a dress she hadn’t worn for probably too long. Trixie nodded happily when she pulled it out. A clean silhouette in a velvety blue, the top swooped generously low and the not-quite knee-length skirt flattered her toned legs. She tried to think back to the last occasion she’d worn it for. A work event, probably. It didn’t matter. She worked her way into it – it was a bit tighter than she remembered, which she wasn’t sure was a good thing – and had Trixie zip her into it and help her into a pair of black heels. 

“What do you think?” she asked, giving a spin and having flashbacks of posing for her mother.

Trixie stuck a thumb on her lip and pushed a hip out, thinking. “It works,” she decided.

Chloe snorted. “Great. Thanks.”

Trixie reverted back to her old self and pulled her mother down to plant a big kiss on her cheek. Chloe snuggled her with her good arm. “You’ll be good for Nana?” Trixie wrinkled her nose. Chloe knew better. “That’s what I thought.”

 

Ella led the way inside the club, heading straight for the mirror-backed bar. At least Chloe hadn’t overdressed: everyone was in their Friday-night best, shimmering in a rainbow of muted colors under the dim, comfortable lighting. She didn’t know any of the other women well, but they were all friendly and acted interested in her life outside the job, which was new and made her feel a little boring. Cas was the only other married one, but hers was happy and moving forward. Chloe remembered those days, and they chatted about milestones the others, who were single, hadn’t reached, and was on her second drink before she realized. The bartender watched her curiously – probably the arm thing – and didn’t say much. The place was busy, but not so packed or loud that they needed to yell to hear one another (thank God), and an hour passed like nothing. 

A faster song came on, funky with a bit of swing, but Chloe stayed put on the barstool as the others went off for a little dancing. She watched them, amused, as Ella flipped her long, black hair around as she danced. Oh, to be so carefree and young again. Not that she had ever been that way, but there had been a time when she'd tried. She let her eyes drift around the room, taking in the grand piano, the staircase, the thick, velvet curtains over the brick walls, the sign spelled out with butter-yellow bulbs. 

In her wandering, her gaze alighted on one of the darker booths, situated across along the outer wall. Most were filled with friends or pairs of couples, drinking and talking, and her eyes almost passed over the center one, thinking it empty.

It wasn’t.

And its resident was staring right back.

Chloe inhaled, choked on her drink, and spun around to grab a napkin. _Lucifer._ This was _Lucifer’s_ club. She had been pretty loopy during their conversation, but she hadn’t imagined she’d be barging into his life less than a week later. She hadn’t imagined ever crossing paths with him ever again. He had been sitting with one leg crossed over the other, an arm thrown across the back of the booth, playing with something in his other hand, looking enigmatic and curious and _definitely_ not her type _at all._

How long had he been staring?

 _Of course_ he came over. It wasn’t like he was going to leave her alone. It would have been _rude_ to leave her in peace. He sided up to her, bumping a hip on the bar. Chloe refused to look, staring somewhere in the mirror above, trying to appear oblivious. The bartender provided him with two fingers of whisky – he’d said nothing to her – and from his hand produced a coin. He flicked it and it spun on the counter in front of her, seemingly happy to go on forever, until he stopped it with a finger. A way to gain her attention, if a little boyish. “Well, detective,” he said, sliding it back in front of him. “How fortuitous to see you here.”

“Is it?” she asked, about to put the straw back in her mouth to act coy, only to see her glass empty. How many drinks had she had? Was she doomed to be intoxicated whenever she met this guy?

“I was just thinking about you,” he said, in a voice meant only for her ears. It sent a shiver through her arm, which was absolutely the last thing she needed.

Chloe whipped around, and the room spun to keep up. “You – are way too… too…” 

“Too…?”

“Slick,” she decided. “For your own good.”

He rested both elbows on the bar. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems to have served me well, so far.”

“Has it?” she asked. 

The question actually seemed to stump him. He looked back toward the dance floor. “Girls’ night, I presume?” 

Chloe snorted. “I’m a hero, haven’t you heard?”

Lucifer tapped the shoulder of the man in the seat beside him. He vacated it immediately, and Lucifer sat, crossing his long legs at the ankle just beneath her seat. If she already hadn’t been acutely aware that her skirt rode up to show quite a bit of thigh when she sat down, she would be now. His gaze leisurely followed the line of her leg all the way up as he spoke. “It is true, unfortunately. And that’s what I was thinking about.” He paused, his Cheshire grin mellowing into something more serious. “If it wasn’t for me… you wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place.”

She shook her head, then almost fell out of her seat as she touched his knee. “That’s not how this works. There’s criminals all over this town.” She raised an all-encompassing hand. “They’re just – they’re everywhere. Everywhere I turn I’m surrounded by – by –”

“Degenerates?” 

“Mmhm, exactly!” She lifted her glass. It was full again. “You know you asked me, asked me what I want? Remember?”

He smiled a little. “I recall something like that, yes.”

She leaned in, on some level aware that she was making an ass of herself. He came to meet her halfway, eyes darting to her lips. “I wish that I could be ahead of them. Just once. Just know that I wasn’t just catching murderers, but stopping them. Stopping them before they did it. Really help people. But,” she leaned back and shrugged. “Can’t.”

“Murderers?” repeated Lucifer. 

“I work Homicide,” she explained, enunciating carefully. 

“Ah. I see. So you’re not in the business of detecting, say, guns, drugs, contraband, or… organized crime?”

She shook her head and took a drink. Some strawberry margarita thing Ella had ordered for all of them at the beginning. It was very sweet and pleasantly cold. Ella chose that moment to reappear, all the girls making surprised noises when Chloe introduced Lucifer as the club owner. 

“It’s all on the house, by the way,” he told the small group. 

Chloe didn’t really remember the rest of the night, after that.

Well, that wasn't _quite_ true. She remembered a few things. She remembered the way Lucifer stayed by her side all night. How when she offered her seat to Ella (who was happily flushed from dancing), she happened to lean on the bar and a bit closer to Lucifer than necessary. She remembered the girls leaving them be for - god, she didn't know for how long - and making him laugh with something she said until the corners of his eyes crinkled - a real laugh. She remembered him standing to get the bartender's attention, and placing a hand around her waist to move her gently out of the way. She remembered how it stayed there.

She remembered how she liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed this second chapter! As a reminder, updates will continue to be every Friday - stay tuned :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Lucifer sat at the empty bar under the pretense of looking over a set of books, though the numbers had ceased to consciously mean anything some time ago. The large, leather-bound ledger that sat open to a half-filled page was not only used to keep track of Lux’s expenditure, but also incoming and outgoing shipments and favors to be repaid, including a list of names and dates that would have made even his father excited. Not that his father cared about what his son did. Not anymore. Not since he was exiled from the Family.

Lucifer sometimes wondered why he was still trying to impress Daddy.

Maze reappeared from the back room and frowned at him. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, going around behind the bar. 

Lucifer shut the ledger. “Don’t you think I should be spending my valuable time doing something more… significant?” 

“Yeah,” she readily agreed. “We should be out there, hunting down those bastards for what they tried to do to you. To us.”

“It’s all a big game, though, isn’t it? Around and around,” he pulled the coin from his pocket and let it spin on the counter. “And around and around.”

She snapped it up and held it in his face. “A game you were winning.” He plucked it from her fingers. She leaned against the bar, her proximity making Lucifer’s blood boil. “It’s that cop, isn’t it? One little cop with pretty legs and you’re ready to quit the Business. Us not going out there and spilling some blood is making us look weak.” 

He didn’t like her sneer, her cavalier attitude, her insight into his very being, even though that’s what he was supposed to appreciate most about her.

“Maybe that’s just how you are now. Weak.” She dared to come closer. “Pathetic.”

Lucifer burst upright. “You will not speak to me this way." 

Maze’s chest heaved, barely-controlled rage simmering just beneath the surface. There was her Devil. _The_ Devil. 

Her bloodlust was contagious.

A corner of Lucifer’s mouth lifted in a facsimile of a grin. “You’re driving.”

 

Lucifer could admit: this was fun. 

L.A. was bathed in bright sunlight, but behind heavy tint the city looked as cool and calm as he felt inside. Lucifer watched the streets change from the backseat while one of his captains – Justin, a young up-and-coming whom Lucifer had plucked up when they discovered the man had been absconding with his name (Maze had insisted they take a finger, leaving the poor lad with nine) – sat in the seat across, a veritable arsenal spread at his disposal. The boy double-checked the sight of a Kalashnikov, though Lucifer knew he wasn’t going to need to use it. The point of the AK was to make the hell they were about to rain down on the Armenians look like in-fighting. Usually Lucifer preferred more subtle methods, but he wasn’t the one who started this war.

And when it came to war, Lucifer had learned from the best.

The streets slipped from the carefully curated image of downtown to the seedier outliers, in the exact opposite direction of the Hills and their fenced-in residences boasting the veneer of security. Warehouses soon lined the narrowing avenues, enveloping the car in shadows. Lucifer glanced over his shoulder to check the two vehicles behind them had held back while Maze parked and opened the door for him. Justin remained in the back and knew better than to say anything as pedantic as _“Good luck, Boss”_ as Lucifer got out.

He straightened his suit, making sure his lines were perfect, and brushed a bit of imaginary lint from his shoulder. It was a Burberry, not the Armani he usually wore when meeting with his contact, and he hoped that didn’t tip anyone off. It would be easier to justify tossing if it got blood stained. Satisfied, Maze led the way past the outer guards and into the meat-packing plant. It was near-freezing inside, the air blue-tinged through high, dirty windows, making the copious stains and puddles on the floor uniformly black in color. He avoided them religiously. Workers lined rolling conveyor belts, cutting up their own portions of beef carcasses, all dressed in blood-stained white. All woefully underpaid, he was sure, recent immigrants on a conveyor belt themselves. And, judging by the few tattoos he saw flashed, criminals too.

They quickly made their way through the freezer, with its dangling chains and hanging carcasses – an intimidation tactic Lucifer disliked for its ostentation – to the back office. In the middle of the open, concrete space sat a desk, and in front of that, two black, leather armchairs with a small table between them. A chilled bottle of vodka sat on its shining black surface, with two downturned shot glasses. The portly, bushy-bearded man occupying one of the chairs slowly rose to greet him. He stank of cigar smoke. Copious use had led to permanent dark lines around his mouth, and foul-smelling breath behind yellowing teeth. Lucifer had always hated the man, but their alliance went back long before he even moved out to L.A.

“Aleksandr,” Lucifer said warmly, taking his hand and trying to keep the flash of murder out of his eyes. They sat and Aleksandr poured them both a shot.

Business had begun.

 

Maze held back, never far from out of arm’s reach. Her feet were planted firmly and she leveled each of the armed soldiers with her steady gaze. Part of the rules. They could be armed, but Lucifer and his people could not. They were on good enough terms as to not undergo something as undignified as a search. As much as Maze loved her knives, it wasn’t going to be much help against nine street-hardened men with at least twenty firearms between them.

Hence the backup.

Lucifer polished off another shot and tapped the glass twice with the onyx ring on his middle finger: his signal. What he and the man discussed would never come to fruition, so it was a slightly shorter meeting than usual. He rose and said his goodbyes. He reached Maze, and – almost as an afterthought – turned to speak to the other boss once more.

“Oh, dearie me. I almost forgot.” Aleksandr lifted a bushy brow, curious. “Зачем убить меня сейчас?” [Why kill me now?] he asked. “я думал, что мы друзья” [I thought we were friends.]

“Мы друзья,” [We are friends] replied Aleksandr, confused. “You are like son to me.”

“Ah.” That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Lucifer couldn’t help but grin. “Very well. _Dad.”_

Two short whistles flew past Lucifer’s ear and two of Maze’s blades embedded themselves in Aleksandr’s chest: one in each lung. Dead man standing. His blood didn’t have the chance to fall to the floor before she got them out of there. They went out the back way as Lucifer’s men plowed through the front. The echoes of shots rang out through the warehouse alongside the screams of the dying. An unmarked Lexus pulled up to the rear door, wheels screeching, and they disappeared into the grit and anonymity of the city.

 

When they got back to Lux, the flurry of activity was like a whirlwind around him, anticipating reactions and putting response teams in place. Lucifer wasn’t a fan of the whole laying-low part of things, but he had enough to occupy him in his penthouse while Maze tied down every loose end downstairs, directing bodyguards and sending out information and direction to her subordinates. Lucifer stopped the elevator doors from closing.

“The detective,” he said, leaning out. 

“What about her?”

“I want two men on her.”

"I'm sure you do."

He scowled. "Maze."

“Why do you care about her so much? She’s nobody.”

“I just – Just do as I say, Mazikeen!” 

She bewilderedly acquiesced. “Hey!” she called down the stairs. “I need two on the Decker chick.”

Satisfied, Lucifer let the doors close, and resigned himself to a quiet night in when his blood was singing out for anything but. Well. Just because it was a party of one didn’t mean it couldn’t still be a party. A quick bump of coke and he was on the treadmill of his small home-gym, burning off restless energy in sprints. He knew it wasn’t going to be enough, but it was a start. 

_Lucifer Morningstar hurts people._ The mantra swirled around and around in his head as he increased the speed, blocking out every other thought, any anxiety or guilt, as familiar as his own name.

 _Especially those closest to him._

_Those he hurts most of all._

 

Chloe noticed the car. It was hard not to. It was the same as the one she saw days earlier, but now it was parked a few houses down on the street, trying to blend in with all the other luxury cars and yet failing miserably. It was too inconspicuous. Trying too hard. Chloe kept her eye on it throughout the day as she puttered around the house, trying to catch up on the never-ending housework and trying to get her arm to cooperate with her physical therapy stretches, having foregone the sling. She managed to catch one guy getting out of the driver’s side, raising his arms in a stretch, as another identical car approached. He accepted some fast food from the second car, enough for two, spoke for a few moments, and then disappeared back behind the tint. 

At first, she suspected they were paparazzi, but the lack of cameras and interest in the comings and goings of others had her dismiss the possibility. So, protection services, maybe, or a private eye. And she wasn’t too keen on having either in her neighborhood.

When they were still there the next morning, Chloe grabbed her badge and marched out. She tapped on a black window with a knuckle. It rolled down a couple inches. She lifted the badge to the gap and tried to get a good look inside. Two guys, a bit of take-out trash between them, but otherwise clean. “I need you to move your vehicle,” she said.

The driver nodded and started the car. She backed away for them to pull out. Which they did.

About twelve feet.

Chloe gave them a second to keep going. When they didn’t, she tapped on the glass again. It rolled down a little further this time. “Cute.” 

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the passenger, a wiry black man with a bright smile. The smooth talker of the two. “We’re just trying to do our jobs.”

“And that would be what, exactly?”

The passenger chuckled. “You’d have to take that up with our boss.”

Chloe wasn’t having it. “You got a business card or something?”

The driver, who had been staring at her the whole time (or, she assumed, as he was wearing dark sunglasses), lifted a hand and reached slowly into his jacket pocket. Chloe took a calculated step back. But all he produced was a card, and she relaxed. He held it through the crack in the window for her to take.

The card itself was a matte black, the words in shiny yellow print. LUX, it read, and in cursive below, Lucifer Morningstar, followed by a phone number.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Chloe muttered. She ducked down to stare both men in the eye. “Tell your boss that I don’t need his services, and that whatever game he thinks he’s playing, he can go ahead and knock it off.”

“We will relay your message, ma’am,” said the passenger. Chloe returned home.

The car stayed exactly where it was until Monday morning, where it followed her to work before mysteriously, thankfully, disappearing. 

Half the precinct was undergoing construction – a modern look for a modern workforce, or so they were told – so a couple of the departments ended up time-sharing homicide’s space, which was already finished. It was a temporary measure, Chloe knew, but that didn’t mean that cops from different districts could help themselves from being a little confrontational. It was this kind of stupid in-fighting that led to cutting corners, and Chloe wasn’t too keen on spending the day in such an environment. 

Which is why when, around noon, the couple of young up-and-comings detectives who had been engaging in a figurative pissing contest outside the break room where she was refilling her cardboard-tasting coffee suddenly went silent, she couldn’t help but be curious. They blocked her way so she tapped one on the shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

The rookie was white as a sheet. He did a double take. “That’s Lucifer _goddamn_ Morningstar,” he said, as though he couldn’t believe the need to explain it.

Chloe’s heart rate spiked. She got up on her tiptoes to see over them, to no avail. “What the hell is he doing here?” 

The other cops were about as helpful as gaping fish, so she pushed her way through them, wincing at one of them colliding with her bad shoulder. It was Lucifer, that much was certain. He was being shown the way by a uniform toward the interrogation room, smooth as ice. The other cops milling about fell silent as he passed.

“What’s the deal?” she asked.

The same man answered. “Morningstar? You haven’t heard of him?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” said Chloe, trying to go for a look like she knows people. “He’s a club owner.”

“A club owner,” the guy scoffed. “He’s a goddamn _mob boss._ He’s the fucking _Devil of Los Angeles._ Organized crime’s been trying to nail this guy for the last three years. They’ve had task forces assigned to him and keep coming up with zilch.”

Chloe was sure the floor had just fallen out from under her. That guy. Whose life she – they – mutually saved each other. Who bought her a new sweater. Who seemed just desperate for her to like him. “You’re serious?”

The man said no more. Lucifer and two detectives went into the small room, closing the door behind them. A couple of others ducked into the viewing room. Chloe decided to join them. 

“… my father knew the man, of course. He and Aleksandr had a long and industrious relationship since the mid-80s, at least. But you already knew that,” he was saying. “You’re telling me he’s dead?”

“We were wondering if you might know anything about it,” said Lieutenant Herrera, the lead in organized crime. She’d seen him at departmental meetings but little else. Stocky, built like a boxer, prone to sporting a greying goatee and too-tight dress shirts. 

“Haven’t the faintest. But I will be sure to send flowers. Such a tragedy for one to die so… how did you say he died?”

Herrera’s jaw clenched. “Violently.”

“Violently,” Lucifer repeated, rolling the word around on his tongue. “Shame.”

The door opened. Lucifer’s cool-as-a-cucumber façade faltered long enough for Chloe to note it, though everyone else’s eyes were on the woman who had just walked in. She certainly deserved their gawking gazes. Six foot in heels, built like a model, the bright smile of a woman who wasn't going to take no for an answer.

“I believe that’s enough for today, gentlemen. My client is free to go?”

“Mrs. Richards,” said Herrera coolly. “What’s the rush?”

“No rush,” she said coyly, taking the seat beside Lucifer. “I assume you have no further questions, as my client’s so graciously offered time is, I feel, being wasted on your – what do they call it – fishing?” She looked pointedly to Lucifer. “And fish who keep their mouths shut don’t get hooked.”

He held her gaze for longer than she held his, returning her attention to the man across the table.

“No fishing,” Herrera said, bristling. “Just a friendly chat about a friend of his. Last I checked that didn’t require a lawyer present. Unless Mr. Morningstar feels he requires supervision.”

Lucifer sneered, amused. But he did not take the bait.

“Yes, I believe that has been your prerogative, lieutenant. I can’t imagine your budget meetings go over well with all the resources you spend on monitoring my client’s perfectly legal activities. Or should I file another injunction?” 

The viewing room cleared out with a couple of grumbles, the fun over. Chloe stayed. 

Charlotte stood. “It really is too bad what happened to Mr. Kuznetsov,” she said, though Chloe could plainly see she meant no word of it. “Hopefully whatever circumstances which led to his death were rectified by it. Lucifer?”

He stood, buttoning his suit jacket and sweeping a hand down the front. “Lieutenant.”

“Don’t go far,” warned Herrera. 

“Los Angeles is my home,” Lucifer said, with pointed innocence. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Chloe clicked the intercom off as Herrera and the other detective left, but couldn’t bring herself to do the same. Lucifer and his lawyer spoke briefly.

Of course his lawyer would be Charlotte Richards. Most highly-paid and in-demand defense attorney in the city, with a roster that included at least half of their most-wanted list. The half that could afford her services, at least. Ten minutes ago Chloe wouldn’t have believed if someone had told her this guy was some criminal mastermind, or whatever. The interrogation shifted her perspective. A little. But now, watching him with the lawyer, she wasn’t so sure. His features had softened in her presence and he seemed to be actually listening to her, but not in a client way. More like a child being admonished, where he made himself smaller and more demure after Herrera left the room. 

Which was weird.

Weirder still was when Charlotte placed a gentle hand on his cheek before following it with a scolding tap before turning to leave. Chloe scrambled out and leaned against the door to make herself unnoticed.

It wasn’t needed; the lawyer didn’t spare her a glance. Chloe breathed out a sigh of relief and stepped away, only to bump her bad shoulder smartly into Lucifer himself. And his stupidly hard chest.

“Ow.”

“Detective!” He grinned, then lifted a hand to hover over where her own was rubbing at the spot. “I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Not your fault,” she said, willing away the sting. Then, remembering he was supposed to be, you know, a mafia mcfreakin _godfather,_ took a step back. “How – how are you?”

“Peachy,” he answered breezily. “Just had to clear up some things is all.” The corners of his mouth downturned as he watched her continue to rub her shoulder. She forced herself to stop. “Since I’m here, allow me to take you out to lunch, at least.”

“That’s not –”

“Oh, come on. Otherwise I’m sure you’ll just force yourself to down one of those awful vending machine sandwiches.”

She stiffened. “How do you know about that?” 

He grinned. Like a shark. But it was also like a shark in that there was no malice behind it: it was just the way he was built. “Would it surprise you to learn I’ve been around plenty of police stations? Also, you seem like to type to eat at your desk. C’mon, detective. All work and no play makes the Devil a dull boy. There’s a lovely Greek joint up the street. My treat.”

She spared a look to said vending machines. There was a diner downstairs, but it wasn’t much better. And it’s not like she could swing by someplace on her way to a crime scene or interview, considering she was desk bound. She told herself it was also because she wanted to know why the hell he had people watching her all weekend, but truth be told, her stomach took precedence. “Okay. But just lunch. And just this once,” she warned.

He beamed. 

She grabbed her coat and they walked out together, the precinct already in whispers. She was already a pariah in the department since Palmetto Street. Chloe ostracized herself by being too good a cop, for asking the questions no one else would dare. No one would think she could possibly be dirty. 

And if it felt a little exciting, well. Nobody else needed to know that.

 

 _Olympia_ was a sunny little place inside of a strip mall that, despite being so close to the precinct, she hadn’t yet had the chance to go try. It was the kind of place you order at the counter, with a large pastry display and a dozen wobbly tables with white and blue chairs. Lucifer’s man, who had also driven them there and appeared to be covertly armed, opened the door for them but remained outside. Lucifer greeted the woman behind the counter by name and didn’t bother ordering – they knew what he wanted – but waited with Chloe while she looked.

Needless to say, Lucifer looked incongruous with the décor and other clientele, all folks in business casual like herself whereas he appeared to be cut straight out of a catalogue which also sold expensive cologne and whisky aged for a hundred years. Though he didn’t seem to mind. They chatted about some casual things until the food arrived, hot and fast. The owner set down the plates along with a glass ashtray, though none of the other tables had them, but Lucifer handed it back. “ευχαριστώ [thank you], darling, but I’ve been trying to cut back.”

The owner took it back and patted him twice on the cheek. “Good boy,” she said. 

Chloe was pleasantly surprised, at both the flush in his cheeks and the quality of the food.

“Detective,” Lucifer admonished, digging into his mezedes pikilia as the owner retreated, “don’t tell me you thought it’s what on the outside that counts.”

She resisted the urge to flick a bit of food at him. “No. I just take you as the kind of guy who didn't.”

He shrugged. “‘Illusion is the finest of pleasures,’” he quoted. “In my line of work appearance is everything.” 

Chloe saw something sad flicker behind his eyes, but then it was gone. “I noticed Charlotte Richards leaving earlier. She’s… a little intimidating.”

To her surprise, Lucifer laughed. “You don’t know?” 

“Know what?”

“She’s my mum.” The thought hit her like a ton of bricks, and she struggled to do the math. “My step-mum. Was. I thought everybody knew, I apologize.”

“You guys are like the same age.” 

Lucifer merely lifted his brows: _yeah, tell me about it._ “She and my father were together for ten years or so. Longer than he and my mum were, at any rate. So Charlotte and I sort of… became friends. She is older than me, by a bit more than a smidge not that she looks it, and _God please don’t tell her I said that,_ ” he added suddenly, making Chloe bark out a laugh and quickly cover her mouth. “She’s a bit like an annoying older sister, I suppose. But when I decided to move away, I thought, she’s already here, and here was as good as any place.”

“That must be nice. It’s just me and my mom. Dan’s got a big family, but…” she trailed off, not wanting to continue. Mercifully, Lucifer didn’t push.

“Yes, well. It’s just me and her, here, as well. And we don’t exactly do Sunday dinners. But I've found that blood isn't what makes a family.”

Chloe looked down at her plate. Sounds lonely, she wanted to say, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She barely knew the man, but she could relate. It’s not as though she and her mother were like the Gilmore Girls. She had always been one to vie for her mother’s attention, until finally she learned she was never going to be #1 in her book. Which happened around age, oh, eight? Not exactly a strong foundation, there.

Lucifer had fallen silent as well.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For lunch. You don’t have to do this. You really don’t owe me anything.”

Lucifer, finished, leaned back in his seat. “Honestly, it’s… nice. I think you might be the only person who doesn’t want something from me.”

The thought of that made her heart ache. She wouldn't allow it. Not when there was already so much ache in residence.

“The sweater was nice,” she said, trying to lighten things. “The security detail wasn’t.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened. How he ever evaded police questioning with that face, she didn’t know. “Oh, yes, that. That was – it wasn’t –”

“– something having to do with whoever Aleksandr is?” she ventured a wild guess, hoping it wasn’t completely off the mark and that it wouldn’t ruin the moment. But she was a cop, she reminded herself, and he was – apparently – one of the bad guys. Though she was having a hard time believing it.

Lucifer shifted in his seat. “I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

Remorse snagged at Chloe’s consciousness like a bramble, sharp and annoying. She held his gaze. “I’m okay. Yeah, I got shot. It kind of comes with the territory. But we can’t control what happens to us, only how it affects us. I’m not afraid, Lucifer. I refuse to be. I don’t need protection when I walk out my front door.”

He nodded, understanding. He slipped a few bills out from his pocket – exorbitantly more than what the meals cost – and looked at the rest in his hand as though afraid to meet her eyes. “Do I scare you?”

She waited until he did. “I don’t know what your deal is, but. No. You don’t.” She hesitated. “Should you?”

He took in a deep breath, as though debating whether or not to lie to her. “No.”

He left the bills on the table and held the door for her when they left, though he didn't get out of the car when he dropped her off. She didn't mind. She was eager to return.

As soon as she got back to her desk she looked up everything she could find on the man, and was surprised at the list of offences he was accused of – fraud, money laundering, art theft, his connections to criminals and other, larger, organizations. Nothing violent on his sheet, though, which either meant he wasn’t or they didn’t know about it. Judging by what she’d found, it was more likely that others did the violence on his behalf.

She almost laughed when she saw the only “official” photograph they had for him, his only mugshot. He was probably twenty years old when it was taken, his hair a wild mess of dark curls, his left eye sporting a fresh shiner and a gleam of indignant outrage in his eyes. Minor assault, the note read, his first charge – a bar fight that led to him getting an ASBO all the way back in London. 

She wouldn’t hold that against him. When she was that age she was trying to get into the acting game and infamously took off her top for a B-rated flick. People change.

Still, the connections he had with the underworld gave her pause. No matter how nice he was to her, he was still someone who she should probably avoid. She made up her mind to do just that. No more accidentally running into him, here or out, and she certainly wouldn’t use the number she’d programmed into her phone from his card (just in case). Nope. He seemed like a good guy, considerate and caring about her, anyway, and was handsome and elegant and smelled good and moved like sex on legs, which painfully reminded her that she hadn’t been with anybody for, oh, the last six months at least, and there Lucifer was, reminding her of every wet dream she ever had and confidently invading her personal space and taking her out to eat (…eating _her_ out?) – No. She slammed the thought down, hard ( _hard_ like something else?). 

Chloe shook her head to will the thoughts away, and shut the window on her browser so she wouldn’t have to look at his stupid pretty baby face for one second longer. Everything would be fine. Her life could get right back to its miserable, lonely normality. 

And then the gifts began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I mixing up the Armenians and the Russians? Yes. Why? Just cause.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed it so far and stick around for more! Updates are every Friday. <3


	4. Chapter 4

It started sweetly. Innocently. Completed, blissfully, unrelated to her work. Though, like every other aspect of her life, Chloe should have expected it would get tangled in her job eventually. 

A week after Chloe steadfastly refused to spend one more second thinking about Lucifer Morningstar, choosing instead to focus on healing as quickly as possible, she was more-or-less happily working in the groove she’d set for herself. Desk duty wasn’t as bad as she’d remembered. Though she still itched to be out in the field, following up on her own clues instead of helping others with their own, there were several breakthroughs thanks to her being a second pair of unbiased eyes. At least she was helping. Getting bad guys put away kept her from feeling totally useless. 

She got back out to the firing range the day her physical therapist said she could, though she had been warned to take it slow. Chloe was glad the bullet she took hadn’t been in her other shoulder (or anywhere else for that matter), because her dominant side remembered the drill, and she got a solid six shots off holding her glock-19 up one-handed. But as soon as she lifted her other to hold the bottom for stability, things started to turn to shit. It wasn’t a matter of holding up the weight – her right arm did most of the heavy lifting– but her muscles protested the angle and the hand began to shake.

“Fuck,” she swore, shaking out her arm. She tried again. And again. And again. The kickback made her shoulder ache, and roughly three-fourths of her shots made their target. It was bordering on good enough to pass, but nowhere near where Chloe had been or wanted to be. The physical therapist had said it would take time, and she still had a couple of weeks to work out the kinks before being tested. If she couldn’t get her arm up to snuff… if she could never…

She swifty shut down that thought process and called it a day, electing that a long, hot bath was in order. And if she wallowed in self-pity a little, no one could blame her. 

The house felt empty without Trix. Since the separation they’d been trying to keep things as normal as possible, so Dan’s parents had picked her up from school and would bring her back after dinner, leaving Chloe with a couple of odd hours to herself. She’d changed into a bathrobe, and was digging beneath the sink for bath salts as the tub filled when the doorbell rang.

She smacked her head on the cupboard. Cursing, she tied the robe tighter and went to see who it was.

Maybe less of a who than a what. 

Flowers.

She opened the door slowly. The bouquet obscured the delivery man’s face same as every bad heist movie. Sensing her reluctance, he lowered it until she could see him clearly, but it was no one she knew. “Hello?” 

“Ms. Decker?” the man asked. He was bald, with a warm, open face; he probably was the florist who put together the arrangement. She nodded. He handed over the flowers: a large bouquet of a dozen blush-pink roses and greenery in black and smoke-grey tissue paper, along with a small card pinned at the top. 

“Thank you,” she said, cradling them in her arm. They smelled fresh and dewy, and she wasn’t really a flowers kind of gal, but could still appreciate the thought. The man smiled, pleased, and departed. Chloe returned inside, plucking the card from its holding. It was black and shiny, just off-set enough from the paper to be noticeable.

 _L.M._ was handwritten on the back, in swirling silver script. She flipped it over again, but there was nothing else.

“Jerk,” she said softly, smiling to herself. Just when she’d managed a full 24 hours without thinking of the man. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him that she kept circling back to. Maybe it was as simple as the idea that he seemed to want her. As many times as she said he owed her nothing, he still seemed intent on paying her back. And after months of drifting apart from the man who was supposed to be the second half of a death-do-us-part vow, maybe she just liked the attention.

She stuck the roses in a vase and hoped this Lucifer guy would lose interest. She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, but one thing was certain: the last thing Chloe needed was another broken heart.

 

News traveled like a virus. Trixie asked about the flowers, and Chloe explained they were from a friend. She admitted Morningstar when pressed, because her seven year old was a master manipulator, then Trixie then told her grandparents, who asked Dan about it, and before Chloe could do any sort of damage control Dan was asking why on Earth a _mob boss,_ alleged or otherwise, was sending his wife flowers. Like he had any say in it. 

So, she told him.

His loud bark of a laugh had several officers turning their heads. She shushed him, and he directed them toward his desk for some semblance of privacy. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Why would I be kidding?”

“Because he’s – he’s –” the realization slowly sunk in. “It's great that he's the guy you took a bullet for, of all people. He’s dangerous. Not that you can’t handle yourself –” 

“Thank you.”

“– but seriously. You should listen to Herrera and his guys talk about him. Like he’s some kind of Moby Dick.”

She snorted. Apparently Dan didn’t think it as funny. “It’s only flowers, Dan. I’m sure he’ll move on to some different unsuspecting nobody in no time.”

But Dan was tapping his finger against some invisible barrier between them with a look in his eye that she knew well. He’d just come up with a new lead. “No, Chlo. We can use this.”

“Excuse me? We? What we?”

It was like she wasn’t even there. “You could do some major recon on this guy. Find out when shipments are coming in and going out, where his people will be at any given time. You could find info that would lead to a major breakthrough.”

Something twisted in Chloe’s stomach at the thought. _You’re the only person who doesn’t want something from me._ “I don’t know, Dan. That seems kind of shady to me.”

But Dan was already waving down another detective, and a plan started to form without any input from the bait.

 

It wasn’t as though she’d be going undercover, so they didn’t need the lieutenant to green light anything. As she was still stuck riding her desk, Herrera suggested she take things slow.

Chloe was getting real tired of everyone saying that to her.

“Go to his club, have dinner with the guy, whatever,” said Herrera, as he and a few way too optimistic others piled into the interrogation room with Chloe and Dan. “Get as close as you’re comfortable getting.” Dan shifted, uneasy with the apparent reality sinking in. “Morningstar’s always three steps ahead of whoever’s gone after him, so anything you can get on him – dates, timetables, contacts – anything we can track or intercept, that’s what you need to be looking for. If you’re serious about this, you need to know: Morningstar's impulsive. Short fused, but manipulative. A real charmer. Don’t underestimate him.”

Chloe felt like a mouse about to be fed to a snake. “Perfect. That’s what everybody seems to be doing with me.” She forced herself to relax. “I’ll be fine. But no promises,” she said sternly. “If all I get out of him is a couple of drinks, then that’s all I get. I’m not risking anything until I’m certified to be back out in the field, and I need to know you’ll have my back if my lieutenant starts asking questions.”

Herrera agreed. They shook on it. Dan patted her on the back as he and the others walked out and Chloe made to do the same, but Herrera stopped her and waited until the room was cleared. “Morningstar’s got cops on his payroll. We have a couple we suspect, but nothing concrete, and we have no idea how many. He might make the same offer to you. Use it. Find out who he’s already got in his pocket. This might be a long game, Decker. Prepare yourself.”

 _Great._ “Anything else?” she asked.

Herrera placed a gentle hand on her good shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. “Be careful.”

She gave a curt nod, feeling less and less sure of things by the minute.

 

Lucifer entertained his guests downstairs, but found he didn’t want to make anyone the offer of coming up to his penthouse for the evening. He luxuriated in his hot tub instead, whiskey and cigarettes at his elbow, staring up at the glittering sky. 

Was he afraid? God, no. A bit surprised, sure. He hadn’t had an attempt on his life in years, let alone one so botched. He was offended at its sloppiness. Mazikeen was right: this was a game. He may have been forced to play, but that didn’t change the fact that he had always intended to win.

L.A. lay before him like scattered diamonds on black velvet. Already his people were moving in on bratva territory, taking over their trade contracts, buying up their businesses, paying off their customs officials. The police had no evidence he had been at the meeting with Aleksandr. He couldn’t have planned it better himself. One by one, all their cards would fall into his hands. Corporate takeover was his father’s game, but moving as shadows in the streets? That was all Lucifer. He had been testing the waters on the other side, the legitimate side of things: high end shoe designers, judges, rappers, police lieutenants, record producers. But honestly? As happy as he was to be the tempter, to aid in the corruption of businessmen and government officials, it just wasn’t all that satisfying.

Nothing had been particularly satisfying of late.

The hot tub was supposed to be _relaxing,_ dammit. Frustrated, Lucifer reached for his silver cigarette case at the same time his phone buzzed. Damn thing rarely ever stopped buzzing, so he didn’t pay it much attention, and would have ignored it completely had he not caught the beginning of a fresh set of text messages (more or less a rarity), beginning with:

_\- Hi. It’s Chloe. I got your number from one of your spies._

_\- Thank you for the flowers._

Lucifer smiled. What had he been angry about? 

_\- I hope they were to your tastes._

_\- The flowers. Not the spies._

She didn’t answer right away. He pulled the phone back into the water with him, letting the steam fog up the screen. It surprised him how eager he was to hear from her. 

_\- I bet you send flowers to all the girls who take a bullet for you._

He lifted an eyebrow. She wasn’t wrong, though usually those arrangements ended up beside caskets. It didn’t mean she wasn’t special. He couldn’t explain it. There was just something… different, about her.

_\- Always._

_\- I am a gentleman, you know._

He waited, impatient. 

_\- What are you up to this fine evening?_ he prompted.

A faster response this time.

_\- In bed. Don’t get any ideas._

Oh, please. How could he not?

_\- Why not?_

Did he push too far? He waited a minute – which felt like an eternity – and texted again.

_\- Red or white?_

_\- What?_

_\- Wine._

_\- Oh. Red, usually. Why?_

_\- I want to be sure I have what you like_

_\- For when you join me for dinner._ He flipped through his mental catalogue. _\- Saturday? Say, 8? I promise I’ll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin._

He hoped it made her smile.

_\- I think it was the carriage that turns into a pumpkin_

_\- Not the princess_

He laughed. _\- Okay. Princess._

_\- Do NOT call me that_

Feisty one. _\- Okay. Pumpkin._

_\- that’s… almost worse._

_\- what shall I call you, then?_

A pause.

_\- Detective._

_Detective._ He had to admit it had a certain ring to it, and the thought of murmuring it against her lips, her skin... the unattainable, the enemy, in his bed… 

_\- detective it is._

What else could he be going to all this trouble for, if not for a taste of her? He leaned back, resting his head against the concrete edge and smiling up at the stars. When no response came, he texted again. 

_\- sleep well, detective_

He closed his eyes.

 _\- you, too._

 

Chloe held the phone between her knees, pulled to her chest beneath the downy bedspread. Was it enough to damn someone based on hearsay? Not in court, certainly. But Chloe knew all too well that criminals often skirted around the justice system. They did some time but not enough, had charges dropped, got out for good behavior, cut deals by ratting out others.

The eternal question: was a criminal born or made? Was that why she couldn’t sleep? She had been lying in bed for hours now, guilt threading up like heartburn in her throat. If this had been any other bad guy, she’d be fine. She’d gone undercover before, tricked people into believing she was one thing instead of another. It all came with the job. 

Hell, no one was what they appeared to be, not really. Not in this town. 

But this – he – was different. She had to be herself. There was no role to play. Was it a lie to say she was looking forward to dinner? Was it a lie to want to see his place, if only to get to know the man better? To what end? To lock him up? 

She took a deep breath. It all depended on what she found, she supposed. 

 

Saturday arrived faster than she’d anticipated. She received no texts from him throughout the week. Part of her hoped he had forgotten about it entirely, letting her conflicted self off the hook, but of course the morning of he texted with a reminder that a car would come around to pick her up at half-seven, with a purple devil emoji to boot. There was no help from Trix this time; Dan had picked her up that morning, and tried to hide his disapproving tone with advice on where to search and what to look for (as though she had never done this before). Trixie dragged him out the door before he could make any comment about what she should wear – a fact which she was not so sure she was thankful for.

Was it a work thing? A date? What was a happy medium between the two? There weren’t really advice columns on “How to Dress When Your Date is a Mob Boss.” 

She googled it anyway.

A surprising number of articles came up, all of which she promptly attempted to ignore by throwing her phone onto the bed. Another forlorn look into her closet and she was lunging after it.

By the time she stepped out of the car at Lux, she was fine with her choice: hair in a low pony over a midnight-blue long-sleeve and flattering dark jeans. Lucifer wasn’t downstairs, but his man pressed the elevator button for her and indicated she was to go up alone. Below, Lux was in full swing. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. It felt hollow without the owner making his rounds.

The elevator brought her up to a seemingly empty penthouse. “Lucifer?” she called out, stepping inside.

The bar beside her lit the space in a warm ochre hue, the color shining off a grand piano and the black marble beneath. The glass balcony doors were closed against the cool weather, storm clouds hanging heavy, but the fireplace was lit, warming the room. She spied a desk in the library and quickly made her way toward it. “Lucifer?” she called out again, swiftly pulling a few drawers open and rifling in the papers found there; nothing leapt out to her as anything out of the ordinary, but they got Al Capone on tax evasion,so. She snapped the last one shut just as Lucifer appeared from a dark, second entranceway beside her, looking around.

“Detective!” he said joyfully, a spatula in hand. He was jacket-less, the sleeves of his royalty-purple shirt rolled nearly to the elbows, and it hit her than she had never seen him bare so much skin. It almost felt like a secret, something for her eyes only, which she absolutely knew could not be the case. “Just in time. How wonderful,” he said, looking her over her eagerly and licking a bit of something off a knuckle.

He motioned for her to follow him back the way he came. The short hallway led back to a large kitchen, new appliances gleaming in silver and the rest decked in black and white. She took a seat at the counter while he returned to the stovetop. 

“When you said dinner –” she said, as he shut off a couple of burners, “– I hope I didn’t put you out.”

“Not at all. Can’t say my culinary repertoire is expansive, but –” he lifted a lid with a flourish to show her, “– I can make a mean cheeseburger at least.”

She smiled. “How American."

“Isn’t it just? I thought I wouldn’t subject you to English cuisine. Surefire way to make enemies.”

“For life, probably.”

He hummed in agreement. Plates and all the accompaniments were already laid out. “If you don’t mind –” he said, gesturing toward them. Once all was plated – including homemade French fries – he brought everything out to a small table beside the fireplace. As he poured the wine and she tried to think of a way to extract information without it seeming terribly obvious. 

“Do you usually pair burgers with cabernet sauvignon?” she asked. Not exactly a glowing start, but she found she didn't really care.

He chuckled, low and rich. “I rarely get the opportunity. Appearances and all.” He twisted the bottle to keep it from spilling and sat down. “I feel like I haven’t used my kitchen in ages.”

She raised the glass and swirled its contents, letting it breathe. “Someone like you, I figured you’d have some five star chef at your disposal.” 

“Do you think me so inept, detective?” 

Feeling teased, she plucked up one of his fries and popped it into her mouth. It was just this side of too hot, but the look on his face was worth it. “Not at all,” she explained. “You just seem like one of those guys who would’ve grown up with one. And a nanny. And a driver. And some other British thing I’m not thinking of.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll have you know the household staff when I was growing up was quite sparse.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “We even had to groom our own horses.”

She placed a hand on her chest in shock. “Medieval.” He laughed again. She liked the sound of it. It came out as surprised, as though he were shocked she could get it out of him. “So… you grew up in England, then?” 

He began to eat in earnest. “Please, detective. I’m sure you have much more interesting questions than that.”

She followed suit, staring him down. “Like what?” He offered her nothing, so she decided to test the waters. “That coin you have. What’s that about?”

He pulled it from his trouser pocket and flicked it in the air, expertly catching it before lifting it for her to see. A horned devil-goat took up one side, and the other held writing she couldn’t decipher. “I suppose you could call it my get-out-of-jail-free card.” He handed it to her to inspect. She wiped her hands and accepted it, turning it over. It was surprisingly warm. “Just don’t ask me how it works.”

“Is it like, one of those John Wick coins?” she asked, handing it back. He looked puzzled. “Like underground currency.”

He held it between two knuckles, then flicked his hand, and it disappeared. She laughed. “That’s probably closer than anyone’s guessed,” he admitted. “Well done.”

As they ate, Chloe allowed herself to look – to really look – at the man. With the warmth of the fireplace beside her she was comfortable and more at ease than she expected, and the surprise of having a home cooked meal that she hadn’t been the one to make was enough to make her feel cared for. Which was a low bar, admittedly. Yet the feeling remained the same. He asked about the movie and she explained the plot.

He looked over her shoulder toward the television. "Sounds engaging enough. Would you be interested?"

"In watching it? Now?"

He nodded. Was he nervous?

She licked a bit of salt from the pad of her thumb and decided she liked the look on him. "Dinner _and_ a movie?" she teased. "Is this a date?"

He looked her over, leisurely. "If you like." 

She considered it, and the growing lateness of the hour. "Maybe."

Conversation came easy. It didn’t hurt that he was good looking, more so the longer she looked. Though for all his put-togetherness, there was still the sense of someone else lurking beneath. Someone who was not afraid to get their hands dirty. A _closer._

Mostly, though, he just looked tired. Rumpled. She had never seen him so relaxed. His shirt was clean and pressed, but wrinkling where it had been worn for too long. He left a second button open at the collar, exposing the dip in his pale collarbone and a constellation of freckles trailing down to his chest. A stubborn few dotted his cheekbones. 

She dialed back her concern. It was probably misplaced, anyway. He was the type to stay up all night partying, she imagined. It was nothing to feel sympathy towards. “So you’re a professional partier,” she observed. “Being a club owner and all.”

He scoffed around a bite. “I’m not sure anyone’s accused me of being a professional anything.”

“Why do it?”

“Do what?”

“The nightlife… life.” It wasn’t as though he was going to say _well, it helps with the money laundering,_ but hey. A girl could try.

He considered the question, but couldn’t seem to come up with anything satisfying. “What else would I do?”

“Anything,” she answered, confused. “People can change. Their careers. If they want. Hell, I was almost an actress.”

That made him smile. “Yes, I have seen your stimulating performance, detective. But changing careers, as you say. I never really considered it. I do what I am good at.” 

"So you're good at... people?"

"I can... draw out their deepest desires. And I'm usually prepared to give it to them. For a price." 

She wasn't sure how to respond, and silence fell heavily between them. The light behind them darkened, leaving Lucifer's features awash in an amber glow, gentled but thick with shadows. The skies threatened rain, blue and tumultuous gray, and they finished eating with a few lingering words between them. She rested back in the large seat, surprisingly content. “You said, before, you worked for your dad? What did you do for him?” 

He blinked and the mood shifted. Became serious. He looked her over carefully. “Bad things.”

Pushed too far. But she was here for a reason, and that reason was not to have an excellent burger. “Probably not something you’d want to go back to doing, then.”

“No,” his said, voice thick. “My family and I… we disagreed on the role of certain parties. There was an incident…” he trailed off. She remained silent, compelling him to continue. What was it he wasn’t saying? He seemed to be looking anywhere but her. “I think… I should… excuse me,” he said, standing, piling their plates together and making quick work of returning to the kitchen.

She watched him until he was out of sight, then leapt to her feet and looked around cautiously, wine glass still in hand, betraying that half of her wasn’t all that committed to a search. She heard the water turn on and tiptoed her way over to behind the bar, opening the drawers, the small fridge, looking for – god, she didn’t know at this point, anything that could be remotely interesting. She looked up.

The bedroom.

She steeled herself. With a quick look over her shoulder she made her way up the steps and surveyed the room. It was surprisingly sparse. Black, diaphanous curtains were pulled over a glass wall, blocking most of the low light from the city below. No pictures hanging – no pictures anywhere, in fact – nothing but a bed and end tables (which she was _not_ prepared to look inside, Hererra be damned), and an armchair in the corner. 

Nothing – except for a safe embedded in the wall. She spared another look back before moving to study it. A simple keypad barred entry. Probably deceptively simple, knowing the man. Just like his own façade. 

Hearing footsteps, she hurried down the steps and plastered on a reserved smile, lifting her wine glass to her lips just as he reappeared.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together eagerly, all of the tentativeness from moments ago having disappeared entirely. “How’s your undercover surveillance of my activities going so far?”

She balked.

“And – please. At least do me the courtesy of being honest.”

“Honestly?” The jig was up. She couldn’t say she wasn't relieved. “Not so great.”

He looked sympathetic. 

“I’m sorry,” she began, but he waved her off. There was a weariness in the gesture, like he had heard it all before. He probably had. His mouth tightened. “Lucifer –”

“It’s my fault, really. I should have known that as soon as bloody Herrera sniffed out a connection he’d have you doing his dirty work for him. Right bastard. You know, usually I like men riding my ass.” He marched to the bar and grabbed one of the decanters and a glass. “The Devil you know,” he toasted, then threw back the drink. He tilted the glass toward her in offering. She shook her head.

“I –” Wait. He wasn’t angry at _her_. He was upset that she had been placed in such a position. That was… okay. Not what she expected. “Yes. He asked. He has these ideas about you. And he's my superior officer.”

He refilled his glass. “And you, detective? What conclusions have you drawn?” 

Chloe felt rooted to the spot, yet she’d never felt so off-balance. Usually she was so sure of these things. They had warned her that he was manipulative, hadn’t they? Was that this, or something else? Was there even anything here?

Herrera didn’t have the best track record, despite making lieutenant. Tended to push until he got the answers he wanted to hear, truth or not. It had gotten him into hot water before, though apparently not enough to keep him from making rank. Some people saw it as bold. Chloe just saw it as questionable.

“I think…” She took in a deep breath. “I think there’s probably more to you than you let people see."

He held very still, a fresh glass halfway to his lips. At least she had his attention.

“And… I wonder why that is. When everything I’ve seen so far points to someone who wants to do good. Who cares about people. Someone who was, maybe, put in a position they don’t want to be in, and carefully guards himself because of it.” 

Unfortunately, she could relate.

She licked her lips, thinking. His eyes flickered down to them, grip tightening. 

“And I think… whatever game this is that you’re playing with the police. I don’t want any part of it.” Slowly, she returned to the small table and gathered up her jacket, then stopped at the elevator. Lucifer hadn’t moved. “Thank you for dinner,” she said softly, unable to keep the regret from her voice. It had been a mistake to think she could get anything out of him. Detectives are warned to stay away from cases they have become emotionally invested in. 

Somehow, Chloe had gotten too close. 

The elevator dinged and its doors opened. She stepped inside just as life returned to Lucifer’s limbs, carrying him to the spot where she had just been. His mouth opened but no sound escaped. The doors closed.

The sound of shattering glass followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed their...not date :) Reminder that updates are on Fridays! As a quick note, I'm expecting this story to be around 15 chapters. Hope you stick around for more! Thanks for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

Lucifer accepted the cappuccino with a wink to the lawyer underling, whose annoyance at the task - though minor - was present in the tight knot of his jaw . Charlotte and his father had gotten along well, for a time. They both liked these kinds of power plays.

He sat cross-legged and at ease in one of her office’s white leather armchairs, sipping the glorious concoction while she studied her wall of legal tomes. They had always been complimentary opposites and it showed even now, with his not-quite stepmother in a silken white pantsuit that publicized her deep California tan (mandatory, in her eyes), while Lucifer, unjustifiably morose, stuck to black. The underling set her cup on the desk and left without a word. Sunlight streamed through the window behind it, warming the otherwise cold room, and Lucifer absentmindedly watched a small, brown bird flit from shrub to shrub outside. 

“Lucifer,” Charlotte began slowly, tilting a book out to check its cover before slipping it back.

He waited a beat. “Yes?”

She pulled out another. “Can you tell me why, exactly,” she said, taking it out and dropping it unceremoniously on her desk, “you have declared war on the Armenians?”

Ah. So that’s what she called him here for, then. He put the cup back in its saucer and set it on a small coffee table. “You give them too much credit to call it that.”

“Do not bullshit with me, Lucifer,” she warned. She moved to sit behind her desk. “God help me if you say they started it.”

“They did start it,” he answered easily. Though Charlotte had perfected the ability to look poised while seething inside, Lucifer could tell she was beginning to fray at the edges. “Why are you so concerned?”

“I can’t be concerned for your wellbeing?” she asked innocently. He raised an incredulous eyebrow. She dropped the act. “Not to mention the fact that your spat has caused major upset between three of the family groups I represent. Admittedly it is good for business, but my clients are killing each other because they don’t know what happened. Or why.”

Lucifer shrugged lightly. “What’s another gang-related murder in this town?” He picked back up the cup and took a sip. “And it’s not as though they don’t deserve what’s coming to them. I mean, honestly,” he chuckled, “their level of incompetence was enough to get them picked off, anyhow. It just happened to be by yours truly. And besides, am I not doing the community a service? You know Aleksandr’s men were trafficking more than soviet-era guns and second-rate heroin through their ports.”

“So that’s what this was about? Community service?” 

Lucifer had to admit – he quite liked the sound of that. It was giving him ideas. “Perhaps that’s not how it started,” he mused. It was almost too much to say the rest out loud. He fell silent.

She understood. How she understood, he did not know. Perhaps because she had done it herself already. “Your father will be displeased.” 

He huffed. “I came to this town because you are the only other person in the world who is not afraid of him. Don’t tell me you’ve started now.”

“Of course not,” she snapped, offended. “But I do know the stakes involved. I also know that you’ve been on this path for a long time. Even since before the incident with your sister.”

He lowered his gaze. It was an old wound but it still stung, like scar tissue when pulled too tight.

“You should take some time to think about it.”

He had. The thought had been swirling in his mind for years, too skittish to come to the forefront and into the light of day. But Charlotte had survived, hadn’t she? Thrived, even, by the look of things? 

“I have,” he said. He steeled himself against the impact of the words. He held her gaze, and was startled to see a tepid pride in them, mixed with worry. He placed the cup in its saucer. “My father set in motion a series of events and I have been playing a part in his play ever since. All I ever wanted was to be my own man. I – I will need your help,” he admitted, surprised to hear the strain in his voice.

She got up and came around to the front of the desk. “You want to go legit,” she said, cautiously. “You want out. All the way.”

He hardened his resolve. “Yes.” 

“And Aleksandr’s death? The takeover? How does that factor in?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Revenge for a horribly botched assassination attempt he denied having a part in? The rest was just business. I wasn’t going to go through all the trouble of taking out the competition without benefiting in some way.”

Charlotte shook her head at him. “You’re much more like your father than I think you want to admit.”

He stiffened, then forced the words out. “Yes, I know,” he admitted. “That’s the problem.” 

She looked sympathetic. “You know, six years ago I would have told you that when you’re in, you’re in.”

“And now?”

She took the seat beside him, thinking. “When I look back on… before. I felt like someone else was living my life. Ruining it. My work. My relationships. My family. You’re father and I - ” she couldn’t help but grin. “There were times we had quite a lot of fun together -”

He held up a hand. “Ugh, mu - Charlotte.”

“Point is, even though it was fun, and we got away with quite a bit, that didn’t make it good. For me. I never thought of myself as a bad person -”

It was his turn to snort, then. 

“- but the guilt caught up with me. I had to leave.” She placed a gentle hand on his cheek. It steadied him. “You can’t allow your future to be dictated by your past.”

He agreed. But it was one thing to leave the Family behind. That had nearly killed him. It was another to leave the game entirely. To turn his back on everything he had known, had worked for, sacrificed, been groomed for since before he could remember. Frightening, yes, but also exciting. Liberating. It felt quite a lot like free falling. 

“So no more Devil, then?” she asked, letting her hand fall.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” he answered, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sly grin. 

“Always the trouble maker,” she said. “Just find a way to put it to good use.”

 

Chloe fired off six shots and slammed the retrieval button. The paper target came rushing toward her. Every closing inch confirmed what she already felt in her gut. Center mass. She tore the target off its hinges and crumpled it in her hand. 

She was ready. 

 

Dan got up when she returned, eager to know. She rolled the target out on his desk and he immediately went to hug her, then held back awkwardly. “That’s fantastic, Chlo,” he said, patting her on the arm instead. Chloe screwed up her mouth, trying to hide a beaming smile, and opened her arms an inch. Dan scooped her up in his, and she let herself feel his warmth, his comfort, his familiarity. She had gone so long without. It wasn’t as though the separation had been his idea. 

“Thanks, Dan,” she said, as he reluctantly pulled away. She took a cautious step back to avoid any potential misunderstandings, and gathered up the paper again. “I’m going to show Pierce. Got the all-clear from the psych team last week. This is it and then I’m back out for real. Finally.”

“About that,” Dan added, “Herrera was looking for you earlier. You might want to stop by his office after.”

Herrera. She hadn’t given the man much thought in weeks. Not since her botched undercover attempt, anyway. And he seemed content to wait for her to come to him, like any good lackey. She wasn’t going to let fear of his disappointment kick her off this high, no way. She thanked Dan for the info then headed past her desk, which was aggravatingly spotless from her obsessively cleaning it, to tell the lieutenant the good news.

 

By the time she got back after getting the all-clear from Pierce – and she had no idea how it was even humanly possible for news to travel that fast – a floral bouquet of rich, velvety plums, garnets, and ivories was left standing in the center of her desk in a black crystalline vase. 

No passerby she asked had seen it arrive. Even Dan hadn’t noticed. Which is not good in a police station, of all places.

She plucked the card free. _Welcome back,_ it read in handwritten golden swirls on one side. On the other, _L.M._ , in silver loops. How did he know? Was he having her watched? Did he just have the damn thing on standby and picked a date that seemed reasonable?

In any case, it made her heart pound. 

 

Maze stared, shock stilled. Lucifer sat on the piano bench in his penthouse, tinkering out a few tunes here and there while the idea coagulated in his mind. There was no one in the world who could anticipate his career change, which he intended to use to every advantage. If he was going to get out, he was going to make damn sure there was no one left in this city who could inherit his power vacuum. A thin reed of smoke rose from a cigarette left in the ashtray to burn. His suit jacket was abandoned beside it, though he still wore the black, satin-lined vest that he had meant to follow. 

“I know you made a vow,” Lucifer said. “And I know –”

“You can’t be serious.”

He reached for his drink. “I am.”

She snapped it away. “You want to crumble your empire into dust.”

“That’s what empires do, Maze.” He plucked the glass from her hand. “Sooner or later, it always happens.”

“Later, then,” she said, as desperate as he had ever heard her. He tossed back the drink and debated on retrieving another, feeling guilt at the tightness in her voice. “Way later. Like eons from now. Not now.” She sat down beside him. He scooted over to make room. “We’ve only just got here. We’ve only just begun.” She absentmindedly placed her hand just above his knee, imploring. 

He stared down at the keys. The heat of her skin burned through his trousers. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her. 

“Just imagine,” she began, her voice dropping, pulling him in, “we’ve only just scratched the surface. You overtook the bratva like it was nothing.”

“That took quite a lot of planning,” he responded halfheartedly. It was true. But it wasn’t as though he had broken a sweat doing it.

She squeezed his leg and moved her hand a few inches up. He tensed, her nails digging in. “And that was you, Lucifer. All you. No one else. Look at what you can achieve, here. You pull people in. They want to work for you. They want to make you happy.” 

Slowly, she slid her hand to the crease of his thigh, her breathing quickening. Talk of power always did that to her, sent her mind whirling, her body quick to follow; Lucifer vividly remembered their discussions of what could be done in L.A. before they ever booked a ticket. It was one spark of light in an otherwise dark time. They didn’t leave the bed for days. 

The memory made his mouth go dry. 

Maze had fallen into Lucifer’s company early, their energies colliding and swirling one another in the most constructive and destructive of ways when their moods aligned. Lucifer’s eye fell on her own leather-covered lap, migrating slowly to a slit of deliciously exposed midriff, his lips parting. Her tongue dashed out to touch her upper lip, and scooted closer until their thighs touched.

“They want you,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her hand continued its upward climb until she was cupping him, her thumb stroking the line of his zipper and encouraging the fullness she felt building beneath. He turned his head until their cheeks touched, inhaling her scent, dark smoke and spice, a shuddering breath escaping at her ministrations. For as often as they were together, it had been months since they had last fucked, and longer since it was just the two of them. “This kind of talk is dangerous. You need to be careful.”

“Mm,” he tentatively agreed, nuzzling her hair and snaking a hand around her waist, drawing her closer. Should it have been a shock that he trusted her? That he wanted to trust her, more than anything else in this moment? She palmed him more fervently, though still light enough to be maddening, and he dared. “I know that you’ll always protect me, Maze.”

“Yes. No matter the danger,” she added, pressing more firmly to reward him. Lucifer shut his eyes, his hips rising to chase her hand, reveling in the sensation of her deft fingers making quick work of his belt and button. “And the safest place is on top.”

Of course _she_ would think so. But he wasn’t so sure. In fact, it might have been the furthest thing from the truth. In his experience, the top was less of a plateau than the edge of a razor blade, with those below forever straining upward to tear him apart. She must know that. It was her job to know the threats to his person. The safest place had to be _out,_ surely. “Maze,” he gasped into her ear, surety wavering as her fingers slid over his silken boxers.

“Shh,” she whispered, then licked a hot stripe up his neck. He inhaled sharply as she freed him, thick and full with want. “You’re the Devil. Stop caring.”

With a surge of motion he hauled her above him. Her rear struck the piano keys in a loud, discordant noise, but he couldn’t care less as he dug his fingers into her waistband and shoved down her pants. She was bare, commando as always, already warm and slick for him. She made quick work of her shirt and he wrapped both hands around her small waist, holding her still and tightly enough to leave bruises where his thumbs pushed into her ribs.

Just to look. He needed to see her, all of her, as though any secrets she held could be read like tattoos on the smooth expanse of her skin.

The delicate steel bars she had pierced through both nipples glinted in the light, begging to be rolled on his tongue. She managed to kick off a boot and untangle herself from the rest in the moment before his grip tightened and he tugged her down, her knees hitting the bench on either side of his thighs. She seized his hair and yanked back to make him expose his throat while she lined him up and sunk down. His eyes starting to roll into the back of his head before he caught himself. Locked in a fight for dominance that was always a coin flip between them, they bared their teeth and waited for a victor to emerge.

 

A body dropped that afternoon. 

Chloe could almost say it was giftwrapped just for her. A perfect “welcome back” present. Not that she would ever be so callous. She lifted the yellow crime scene tape and continued downward on the beach, each step taking her further from curious onlookers and touristy gawkers. The water was at low-tide, exposing most of the body. A dump like this, so public, meant that whoever did it probably wanted the body found, unless it was a crime of passion. Ella kneeled in the sand beside it, snapping a photographs while a couple of cops milled about and other forensics guys busied themselves with filing away samples already taken.

“What we got?” Chloe asked her.

“White male, mid-20s. The cold of the water messes with the lividity, but I’d say he hasn’t been here more than a few hours.”

Chloe glanced around, surprised. “It’s the middle of the day.”

Ella rose. “Not exactly prime murder time.” She bid her closer then knelt down to the other side of the body, pointing a gloved finger to the abdomen. Gently, she pushed away the man’s black suit jacket to reveal the white, blood-covered shirt beneath. The ensemble resembled someone else she knew a little _too_ well, making her stomach lurch. “One stab wound, right side, between ribs six and seven. Would have punctured the lung, but even with your longer than your usual kitchen knife, wouldn’t have been enough to kill him right away.”

The wound looked mildly familiar, but Chloe couldn’t place it. “So he bled to death?”

Ella bounced a little on her toes. “More likely suffocated, then passed out, and then exsanguinated. Poor guy,” she shook her head, then immediately brightened. “But! I.D. should be easy enough.” She lifted the man’s right sand-covered hand. The pinkie finger was missing, but healed over. “I mean, how many nine-fingered guys do you know?”

 

Back at the precinct, Chloe waited for the official coroner’s report while she fingerprints provided the victim’s I.D. “Justin Green,” she read off the blown-up driver’s license on the monitor to Dan. “From Sherman Oaks.” She scrolled down and checked out the rest. “Got a rap sheet, a short one. Identity theft mostly. Nothing violent.”

“Anything someone would kill him over?” he asked, perching a hip on the corner of her desk, perusing a different case file in his lap. He had been tense about the flowers, but had known better than to say anything. So far. Chloe was counting it as a win. She didn’t have the heart to toss them, so she tucked the card in a drawer and gave the rest to Ella, where they were now prominently displayed in the lab’s window.

“Doesn’t look like,” she said, continuing to read. One familiar name popped up. A name she apparently could not get away from. “Oh, come on.”

“What?”

She turned the monitor to face him. He leaned closer, then snorted when he saw it.

“What is with this guy?” she asked. 

“You tell me.”

“I had one dinner with him. A botched one. Nothing came of it.”

Dan closed the file and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Flowers don’t count,” she added.

He swallowed his pride. “Maybe now’s your chance to rectify that.”

Chloe gawked.

“Listen, you don’t want Herrera going around talking shit about you. It’s not like Pierce is singing any of our praises, either.” He lowered his voice. “The bastard couldn’t even get my damn name right for weeks.”

“I remember.”

“Which means that you’re probably not going to get any help from him if when you want to move up.”

“Dan –”

He stopped her. “I know we had our differences when it came to Palmetto Street. But I don’t want that to hold you back from making rank. Getting a reference from Herrera, from organized crime – hell, even helping take down a boss – that’s some major shit.”

She couldn’t disagree.

“You’ve already established contact.” _Was that was this was?_ He rose, tapping the file on his palm, a teasing smile on his face, but it was too tight to be genuine. “Hell, maybe Morningstar misses you.” 

She chased him off with a light smack to his knee, then stared back at the name on her screen, resting her chin on her hand and sighing. A quick glance at the clock revealed she could be home, changed, at the club by the time Lux opened its doors. Not that there was any guarantee he’d be there, but if he was, at least she wouldn’t be alone. Not because she was afraid of the man. She was probably less afraid of him than she reasonably ought to be. 

She didn’t want to be alone with him because she hadn’t been able to make herself delete his number from her phone.

Or eat a burger without thinking of him.

Or because of the one time she went back to the Greek restaurant with Ella and they remembered her name and asked about him, much to Ella’s delight.

Or because she checked out her home’s front window every night to make sure a heavily-tinted car wasn’t outside, and feeling a little disappointed when it wasn’t.

Or because every dark-haired man in a suit had her turning her head.

Or the fact that the men in her fantasies had taken on a curiously British accent and a rough bit of stubble she couldn’t stop imagining gently scraping along the inside of her thighs whenever she dipped a hand below her waistband.

If only he weren’t so – 

So – 

“Great,” she muttered to herself. 

At least there was a murder to focus on.

 

She flashed her badge at the bouncer, who let her in, but kept it discreetly out of sight for everyone else. It was Friday night, and by the time she got Trixie fed and settled in with the babysitter, the nightlife had begun in earnest.

Entering Lux was like stepping into another world. The club was below ground, and each descending step put her further from the world above, the world of light and laws and normality. The low lighting flashed off mirrors and bodies in gold and violet and indigo, catching eyes in a nocturnal gleam. Chloe could feel it pulling her in as it did the others, the music, the ease, the siren song of _relax, enjoy, delight, desire._ This certainly was a place for the Devil to linger. 

But he wasn't there.

She drifted to the bar, flagging down the bartender. He greeted her with a thousand-watt smile, almost out of place, and placed a black napkin in front of her. “What’ll it be?” 

“I’m looking for the owner.”

“Who isn’t,” he said good-naturedly. “I haven’t seen him yet tonight. Something while you wait?”

She shook her head. “Do you know where I might find him?” She sensed his discomfort and reluctance to answer, so she pulled out her badge. He understood immediately, and looked past her. “He’s probably upstairs, but that’s his private residence. Maybe you could – hey,” he nodded, and she turned to look. “Maybe Maze’ll help.” He waved the woman down. She started to come over, eyeing Chloe.

“Thanks,” said Chloe absently. She folded her hands in front of her and waited. 

Maze looked her up and down before heading behind the bar. “Thank you Patrick.” 

“Maze, is it?” Chloe asked. The woman began lining up shot glasses. “You’re friends with Lucifer.” As if she didn’t already know the South African native wasn’t Lucifer’s supposed lieutenant, a woman whose citizenship and immigrant statuses were both sealed by an unknown authority. 

She began to fill the small glasses, six in all. “I followed him through the Gates of Hell.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Chloe said. “There’s been an incident. With someone he might know. I’d like to speak to him.”

“He knows a lot of people.”

“Justin Green.” 

Maze put the bottle back beneath the bar, then took a shot for herself. Her eyes alighted behind Chloe. “Ask him yourself.”

Chloe turned around once more in time to catch Lucifer exiting the elevator, fussing with a cufflink. He smiled at a few people hanging out by the top of the stairs, exchanging pleasantries with them as he descended, overlooking the rest of the space. He made a motion and the music turned up a notch just as the song changed to something more uptempo, as though the mood of the place hadn’t changed just by his mere presence. He spotted Chloe – she guessed she stuck out like a sore thumb – and came over with a spring in his step. 

“Detective,” he greeted, siding up to the bar and downing a shot. He and Maze both grabbed another. She downed hers; he paused. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She hesitated at his coolness, but she couldn’t blame him. Business it was, then. She pulled up Justin’s driver’s license photo on her phone and held it out for him to see. “Can you tell me the last time you saw this man?”

Lucifer barely gave it a glance. “Afraid I can’t. What’s he done this time?” he asked, throwing back the shot.

Chloe put her phone away. “He was found deceased this afternoon.”

He set the glass down gingerly. “So you being here means…”

“It was a homicide, yes.”

Lucifer glanced to Maze. “How?” she asked.

Chloe debated. Based on their reactions, her gut told her these two weren’t involved in his death. “Stab wound.”

“How _exactly,_ ” Lucifer added, snappish. It reminded her that this was a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it.

She watched his face carefully. “Through the ribs.” Maze tapped a finger on the spot. “Yes,” Chloe confirmed. 

Lucifer’s jaw tightened. His countenance darkened, and his knuckles around the glass turned white. His eyes never left Maze. “This is why,” he said to her.

Chloe could swear the room heated another five degrees. “You gonna tell me why that’s significant?” she prompted. “Or am I going to have to guess?”

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Lucifer said. He managed to set down the glass without shattering it. He and Maze seemed to be having a conversation, though they shared no words. Maze shook her head slightly. Chloe couldn’t tell if it was an _I don’t know_ or a _No, don’t._ In either case, she didn’t appreciate being left out of the loop. 

Lucifer made to leave. She tried to stop him with a hand on his forearm, but he pushed forward. “Hey,” she said, quickly stepping out in front of him, putting up her hands to block him from going any further. He stopped, surprised. “I want to get justice for this guy as did this as much as you do,” she said, firm. “So if you know who I need to talk to next, you need to tell me.”

“I’m not interested in _justice,_ detective,” he sneered down his nose at her. Maze slipped by, silent as a viper.

He pushed to move past; she placed her hand on his stomach. It slid beneath his open suit jacket. It was oddly intimate, but she couldn’t think about that now. It did the trick. "Lucifer. Talk to me.”

In a flash he grabbed her wrist and shoved it deeper back, onto the spot on his ribs, and held it there. “When the Roman soldiers thought Christ was dead, they pierced his side with a lance to be sure.” He seemed to realize how hard he was holding onto her and released her wrist. He placed his other hand over hers instead, softer, holding it still, and took a step closer. His eyes begged her to understand. 

But she didn’t. “What does that mean to you?” she asked, trying to ignore the warmth of his closer proximity. “And why Justin? How are you connected?” All the rage she had seen boiling beneath the surface evaporated, leaving only sorrow and frustration in its wake. “Hey. I get it. You don’t want me here.”

“Detective –”

“But I’m here now. Herrera…” she paused, then decided to be honest. “He’s not my lieutenant. I don’t owe him anything. And me being here has nothing to do with him. So whatever you’re mixed up in, I can help. You can trust me,” she implored softly, pressing into him. “I already saved your life once, remember?”

He listened. But – _no_. He released her. “You don’t know a thing about me, detective,” he said, his voice dipping.

“No, I don't. Not if you don’t tell me.” 

Her words make him pause beside her. Close. Too close. She stared at his profile while he stared at a particularly interesting spot on the floor somewhere behind her. 

The back of his hand brushed against hers. Slowly, he slipped it into her own, threading his fingers through hers, a secret between them. She was too surprised to respond.

He pressed his palm to hers and held it there for one moment. Two. It was as gentle as a first kiss.

Or an apology.

Then, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be the 28th, hope you've all enjoyed the holiday season so far (and for those who haven't - it's almost over!) :)


	6. Chapter 6

A warning shot.

For _Lucifer._ For Lucifer’s _plan._

Maze would happily rip someone’s head off right now, pull their spine through the hole it left behind, and beat their lifeless body _more_ to death with it. She contented herself with imagining it - for now. Covered in hot, thick blood. _Dripping_ with it. Didn’t these people know any better? How many tibias did a girl have to fracture to send a message around here? 

No one was supposed to know anything. It wasn’t just insider knowledge. It was insider knowledge between herself, Lucifer, and that fucking bitch he called Mom. The brain trust. The unholy trinity, Lucifer liked to joke. The family. Their family. 

Knives weren’t going to be good enough for this one. She was going to tear the Judas apart with her bare hands. Testing to see if he was already dead, huh? If Lucifer’s kingdom was already history? If he already had lost the manpower to retaliate against a murder of one of his captains? Whoever dared was far too impatient. Or stupid. They should have known: Maze was always going to be there. 

Apparently, she hadn’t made that clear enough. 

That was easily rectified.

 

She was running too hot. Lucifer wasn’t exactly a level headed individual, but he had told her before that when she got like this, it made her dumb. She wasn’t any good to him stupid. Or dead. 

Tonight, she didn’t care.

There was too much uncertainty in the air for her to remain rational. First, he tells her he wants out. Out! Like this life was something they could just step out of. It was baked into their DNA. She’d run away from her own family when her mother decided to sell her to the highest bidder, but she’d never wanted _out._ The concept did not exist. She downshifted her Ducati and weaved through the never-ending traffic of this hellscape, earning her honks that she barely heard for all the blood pounding in her ears. She took a turn a little fast, almost scraping her knee on the asphalt, but Maze had been riding on motorcycles since before she could walk and recovered easily. The roar of the engine echoed off the hills as she climbed away from the city, passing increasingly-gated multi-million dollar homes, until she pulled up to the one gate she had the passcode to. 

She typed it in with steady hands. The gate slid open and she roared up the front door, killed the engine, dropped the bike, and kicked her way inside.

Alarms blared. It suited her mood. She didn’t have to search long to find who she was looking for. Charlotte appeared unfazed by Maze’s behavior. She leaned against the desk in her home office, though she had the sense to put down her mug before Maze marched over. She stopped barely an inch shy, eyeing her jugular.

The one rule Lucifer made her follow. The only one. _Don’t lay a finger on Mum._

“Mazikeen,” the other woman greeted uneasily. 

Maze smelled the sweat starting to dot Charlotte’s collarbone. Fear. Just because she couldn’t hurt her didn’t mean she couldn't still scare the shit out of her. Maze inhaled deeply, clenching her hands. “You knew.”

“Knew what?”

“He wanted out.”

The alarms shifted in tone, releasing an ear piercing series of shrieks. “May I?” Charlotte asked.

Maze nodded once, but didn’t move, forcing Charlotte to skirt around her to the switchboard on the wall. The alarms mercifully ceased. 

“Is that what you’re upset about?” she asked.

Maze turned on her heel. “Who did you tell?”

She smiled at Maze, like one may smile at a child who was crying over a boo-boo. “You’re speaking but you’re not making any sense. Typical, I suppose.” She leaned in. “I didn’t tell anyone anything. You should know me better than that.”

Maze grabbed a letter opener from the desk and was at Charlotte in a flash, pressing the dull tip between her ribs and caging her in. She understood the implication immediately, and stiffened. “Somebody killed one of my men. Somebody knows.”

Charlotte grabbed the tip between her fingers. After a moment, Maze allowed her to push it away. “As much as I’m touched by your concern, I had nothing to do with it. I have my office swept for bugs every morning.” Maze took a single step back, then crossed her arms. The letter opener glinted in the light, making Charlotte swallow. “Out of the three of us, Lucifer is one most likely to have opened his mouth. You know how he likes to brag.” Reluctantly, Maze agreed. “So I’d suggest you go find whoever might have been listening in to him, and get the hell out of my house.”

Her nostrils flared in anger. She stood ramrod still, taking in the words, then whirled around and jammed the letter opener into the desk so hard it stood up on its own. She marched back to her motorcycle without a look back.

For all his faults, Lucifer knew better than to risk his life in such a dumb way. Didn’t he? There were only a few factions she could think of that would even dare try anything against them. She righted her bike and kicked it back to life. She hadn’t anticipated she’d be murdering anyone tonight.

Oh, well. Plans change.

 

First stop was the docks. The storage container held an emergency supply of all she would ever need. She changed, tucked four knives into her boots, two Walther P99s in a chest halter, and got out the C-4. You know.

For fun.

 

Four strategically placed explosives took out the Peckerwood lackeys on the docks. Twelve skinheads waiting for a buyer and their merchandise went up in a tower of flames. Maze knocked out the lookout with an elbow to the back of the head and dragged him into the inferno to burn alive. It was no less than he deserved.

 

She took out the two guards on the door with silencers from the roof across the street. The Triad gambling establishment was out of her usual range, but Maze didn’t care. She was sending a message. The point was cause chaos. Twelve shots took out the higher-ups inside, their Mahjong tiles flying went they overturned tables in a fleeting attempt to stop her. They should have known better than to require their players disarm before entering the back room. She didn’t even need to reload. 

She disappeared into the night like smoke. A few more messages still needed sending.

 

The sun was rising by the time she reached her last stop. The Abergil’s had always been off-limits. Like the Sureños, the size of their organizations made it prohibitive. She and Lucifer could never match their influence, and more often than not, they left one another in peace. Besides, the Abergil’s always had quality ecstasy, which Lucifer’s people had always been happy to move. The damn thing basically sold itself. The Mexican cartel had no beef with Lucifer’s enterprise – they moved in different circles – but they crossed paths with the Israelis from time to time. If anyone wanted to test Lucifer’s strength, especially after dismantling the Armenians, it would be them.

She pulled into an alleyway across from one of their many fronts near Venice Beach. Anyone who knew anything knew the clock-repair shop was a cover for a high stakes poker table, and as good as any as a place to start. She ducked behind a dumpster and reloaded, ensuring her weapons went unseen, then snaked around to scan the parking lot and back entrance. She’d scoped out the place before. Usually had a man inside, and another on the side –

Lucifer’s shiny new car was sitting front and center. A passersby stopped to admire it, an older couple linked arm-in-arm, taking a morning walk to the tourist traps before the day got hot and busy. God help them if they touched it. 

They moved on, unaware of the danger they were in.

Maze licked her lips, thinking of her next move. “Fuck it,” she decided. She unholstered her guns then crossed the street, making a beeline for the front entrance. She kicked the front door open and held both up to the men behind the counter, who scrambled to react, only half-awake. “Take me to the boss.”

 

“Lovely of you to join us, Maze,” Lucifer said, not bothering to turn around. He stood in the center of the small office, hands folded carefully behind him, looking the very picture of poise in stark contrast to the meathead behind the desk. Dusty light filtered through a low window, illuminating scattered repair equipment, file cabinets, and loose paperwork. The man – close shaven, portly, wearing an ill-fitting suit – leaned back in his chair, uncaring of the status of his company. The disrespect alone had Maze seething. “We were just discussing Mr. Green. Seems Mr. Levy is certain he has heard of no such person. Which I would normally be quite pleased to hear.”

The two men who brought Maze in closed the door behind them as they left, leaving only the three of them in the room. She couldn’t be sure if they were so sure of their boss’s safety, or were really just that stupid. She put away her guns and stepped beside Lucifer, crossing her arms. “So?”

“So I think you have another enemy, Morningstar,” said Levy. “We are friends. Your father is held in high esteem by my brothers back home. We have no reason to kill one of your own.” He rose. Maze stepped forward, but Levy only laughed. “Listen. We do not care about your dealings. Play your games. Make your favors. Run your business. And think,” he pointed to his bald head, “who maybe would wish you to think your friends are your enemies.”

“Cui bono,” Lucifer said.

Levy tapped his temple. _Now you’re getting it._

 

Maze’s anger threatened to turn inward as they stepped back out into the light of day. “I hope you didn’t do anything terribly stupid,” Lucifer said, unlocking the car. He opened the door but she slammed it shut. He growled.

“Wait a minute,” she snapped. He begrudgingly did so, watching the wheels turning in her mind. “Who benefits.”

“Yes, that is what _cui bono_ means.”

She shot him a look. Her mind whirled with possibilities, all of them coming up short. Admittedly, she’d never been the brains behind the operation, but a conclusion was beginning to tentatively form. “I think we’re looking at this wrong. We’ve been looking at it as a test. No one knows but the three of us what you want to do. The Armenians are still in-fighting. They don’t know it was us.”

Lucifer paused, realization dawning slowly. “We don’t know it was them," he agreed. "Talbert never answered me, not really. And I'd wager to say Aleksandr was quite surprised at the turn of events. He'd never been a good liar.” 

As fate would have it, a stray police car slowly cruised by, its occupant glancing over the two of them. 

It all clicked into place. “The one who benefits most from us killing each other isn’t any of us. Even Charlotte said that,” Maze said. “All it takes is one. One fallen domino piece. And the rest go tumbling after it.”

Lucifer watched the cruiser until it turned a corner and disappeared. “Do you really think Herrera would be so bold?”

Maze wasn’t sure, but if the blood on her hands was in service of some ladder-climbing cop, she wanted to know. _Now._ “I say we find out.”

 

*

Chloe tossed her phone onto the desk as she collapsed down into her chair. Her morning had been filled with autopsy and lab reports – apparently the vic had a some marijuana in his system, which may have been just altering enough to slow his reaction time in an attack – and she had just returned from the San Fernando Valley to inform his parents of their son’s untimely death. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Another coffee was going to be necessary, and soon. Her phone buzzed.

_\- We need to talk._

Lucifer’s text had her bolting upright. _\- when + where_

_\- Now. Garage._

The tone sent her jogging up the stairs and out into the parking garage. She spotted him parked halfway down the first lane. There were plenty of open spots, but it was out of sight of the camera above the door. He leaned against the hood and offered her a tight smile when she approached, but it rapidly disappeared. “What’s up?”

He waited until she was closer. “You said I could trust you.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “Yes.”

He looked past her. A car started and left. He waited until it was quiet again. “Do you trust Herrera?”

She considered her answer. “He is a lieutenant. Why?”

“I believe he’s behind Justin’s murder, and possibly the shooter at the restaurant. I don’t know the specifics,” he said, before she could ask. “But I can tell you that there is no one who would love a war more than him. Justin's death would have been enough to send a lesser man on a retaliation spree. I…” he glanced at the ground. “Was not so thoughtful after the incident that nearly took your life,” he said carefully. Somehow his words filled her with both cold dread and burning fire; she forced herself not to react. He straightened. “By killing my man, I believe Herrera meant to sow the seeds of confusion. Provoke me into lashing out. One thing leads to another, and your city is bathed in blood.”

Chloe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What? Why?”

He pushed himself off the car. “You said it yourself, detective. Your desire. It is shared by others of your kind. To be one step ahead of the criminal element. It’s so much simpler to allow them to wipe each other out than to go after them one-by-one after the fact, is it not?”

There was already so much violence in the city. To intentionally provoke it... the thought made her blood turn to ice. “I really don’t like what you’re saying, here.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you a muffin basket, detective, but this is a personal affront and I am trying very hard not to take matters into my own hands.”

He certainly seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. She could just begin to suss out the small cracks in his facade where the anger leaked through. She stepped closer, sizing him up. “Tell me who Justin Green was to you. Exactly.”

“Honestly. Must I do everything – ” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “He worked for me. Under the table. Is that enough?”

“Alright.” She eased up. “But I’m not going to start making claims against a police lieutenant without hard proof. Legally obtained hard proof.” She tapped a finger on her ribs. “Tell me what this was about. The real story.”

“Can’t I keep some mysteries for myself?” he asked, fishing in his jacket pocket.

“No. Not if you want to work together.”

He paused, a silver case in hand. He shook his head as though to clear it, then popped the lid open. “You can’t just – I don’t know. Take him down? Don’t you have task forces for this sort of stuff?”

“Yeah. You’ve seen how well they work.”

He slipped out a cigarette. “Touché.”

She watched him light up. “Get me evidence, Lucifer. Anything. Anything to start. Anything that might point to this theory of yours. Then I can start a proper investigation. Okay?”

He nodded reluctantly, blowing smoke out of his nose. The conversation felt like it was over, she found herself reluctant to leave. He made no move to do so. What was it that made her linger? There was something… magnetic, she supposed, about him. His eyes met hers, curious. 

“I thought you were trying to quit."

He looked at the cigarette and flicked off a bit of ash. “Trying to quit a lot of things.” He took another drag. “As you can imagine, I’m under quite a bit of stress at the moment.” She giggled. He looked surprised. “Does my pain amuse you, detective?”

“No,” she assured unconvincingly. “No. Sorry. It’s just – you’re supposed to be the bad guy. I’m not supposed to want to side with you. Yet here I am.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Here you are.”

 

The gifts changed after that.

Dramatically.

Chloe had four days of peace. Four days of her coworkers not thinking she was a normal, average, every day police detective with a nice clearance rate and a solid work-life balance. There was a birthday in the precinct. Someone brought cake. She had a slice. They sang a bad, out of tune song. She refilled the coffee pot in the breakroom. She attended a meeting to prep for a court appearance for a case she had worked a few months back. She placed Justin Green’s case on standby and didn’t obsessively check her phone for updates from Lucifer. She met with Herrera and offered him nothing. He didn’t seem all that surprised. In fact, he was quite anxious to get her out of there, concerned with getting a phone call from some higher up.

Then, as she was getting ready to head out, a loud banging echoed down the hall, followed by muffled shouting. Two uniforms hurried to help, and soon they were coming out into the open area, wrangling a half-naked man with dark, greasy hair and beard, a chest tattoo, and a towel around his waist keeping him from being completely indecent. She stood, hand hovering over her gun as the man knocked one of the unis to the floor. He was yelling, but she couldn’t make it out. Then she realized why. 

His mouth was taped shut with what she could only describe as Christmas-themed washi tape. Stripes of red and green encircled him from his mouth to his knees, restricting his movements and causing him to stumble blindly. A card was pinned to the front of his towel. The unis finally subdued him, dropping him into a chair, and one of them plucked the card free.

“Is there a Detective Decker here?” she read. All eyes turned to Chloe. The uni’s followed. She held the card out weakly. “It’s for you?”

Cheeks burning, she marched over and snapped the card from the officer’s hand. “Get this guy cleaned up and put him in holding,” she barked. They hopped to it. 

In the same handwriting she had come to expect from the man, the card read: _Detective Decker: meet Boris Sokolov. You’re welcome._ She flipped it over, expecting more, then rolled her eyes when she found none. The card had two chocolate lab puppies playing in snow on the front. It wasn’t anywhere near Christmas.

A week later came Sergi Vanlian, kicked out of an unmarked car at the front door, screaming through duct tape, in soaking wet silk boxers. The card accompanying it labeled him as eurotrash smuggler. He had several warrants out for his arrest, including a few international ones.

Then Nick Hofmeister, who walked uneasily through the front doors of his own accord and asked for her by name. She remembered him as a particularly irritating paparazzo but not someone she would be interested in pursuing as a suspect in anything, until he ratted out his protégé for murdering a couple of up-and-comings in order to be the first pap on seen. Definitely a guilty conscience on that one. Or so she explained to her lieutenant. 

Former football star and agent Joe Hanson followed, who admitted to strangling a hooker he had booked for his virginal client. He picked shards of glass out of his shirt sleeves as he spoke, though he would not tell them who or what brought him to the station.

Chloe was having a hard time keeping up. The days and times varied, but she seemed to be getting one perp a week without even trying; her closing rate went through the roof. Pierce demanded to know what the hell was going on. It wasn’t difficult to keep him out of the loop (which gave her more of a thrill than she would have liked). 

A betting pool started. Chloe had the distinct impression that Ella had started it, and that she knew exactly who was taking out the city’s trash. Officers bet who was coming in next, starting with gender and going all the way to alleged crime. 

“We should go back to Lux,” Ella suggester after Chloe had just finished interviewing Frankie Coster, the leader of a local chapter of Hell’s Angels, who in turn gave her a number of other names to run down. Though he had come in of his own accord, her name had been written on his hand, and he was reluctant to say who gave it to him or why. There was nothing that was leading her any closer to Justin Green’s murder, or Herrera, but she wasn’t going to complain. “C’mon,” she urged, bouncing on her toes. “It’s Friday. You’ve been buried in work I think I’ve memorized the back of your head.”

“Yeah, you and my kid,” Chloe answered moodily. “I think I need to sit this one out. Sorry.”

She waved her off. “Hey, it’s all good. Raincheck?”

“Sure,” Chloe said, already thinking ahead to all she needed to catch up with at home and wondering how she had let it all get away from her so easily.

 

She got off early to pick up Trixie from school, and the girl rushed out of the car as soon as they got back to the beach house – Chloe knew she really needed to find an apartment, but rent was hell in the city – before she came rushing back, hitting Chloe’s legs in her urgency. “What’s wrong, monkey?” 

Trixie pointed to the door. “It’s open,” she whispered.

Chloe gave the girl her backpack and directed her to get inside the car. She unholstered her weapon and approached the door carefully, then nudged it further open with the toe of her boot. It swung open, revealing a familiar figure standing in her kitchen, searching through her cupboards.

Lucifer turned fast and winced. “Don’t worry, detective,” he said, straining, pressing a hand into his side, “it’s just your friendly neighborhood Devil.”

“Lucifer,” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Trying to catch our killer, duh.” He returned to searching through the upper cupboards, his movements shaky. “Your alcohol selection is atrocious. _Wild Turkey_?” he said, inspecting the bottle. “You might as well lick the puddle under a car.” 

“Lucifer.”

“Well, ah. Hit a bit of a snag, you see. Seems I’ve been stabbed. At. Sort of.” She raised the gun and immediately began looking around, but nothing else was out of place. “Nothing too serious, but your home was closer than mine, so. If you don’t mind, I – oh. Bloody hell.” He grabbed feebly at the counter as his legs gave out. He collapsed in a heap, clattering her dish rack to the floor. 

She rushed over and he transferred his free hand to her more stable shoulder as she lifted his other to get a better look. His crisp, white shirt was soaked with blood all down the left side, clinging to his skin and outlining a gruesome looking gash. His face was paler than she’d ever seen, which was nuts, as the man was already moonlight incarnate. “I’ve got you. It’s alright. God damn it, Lucifer. Trixie!” she shouted. 

He flinched. “You brought a hooker?”

“A – Trixie is my _daughter_.”

“You have a _daughter?_ ” 

The girl came rushing inside, pausing just outside the kitchen. Lucifer definitely looked in worse pain at her presence. Her mouth hung open in a small O, then she burst into a bright smile. “Cool!”

Chloe looked to the heavens for strength. She grabbed a dish towel and put pressure on the wound, over the ruined fabric. “Is anyone else here?” she asked. 

“No.”

“Were you followed?”

He gave her a look. How he managed to be obstinate while bleeding out on her floor she would never know.

She put her gun away. “Okay. Trixie, go upstairs and get the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink.” The child scurried away. “And be careful!” she shouted after her. She listened as Trixie clamored up the stairs, then turned a steely gaze on Lucifer. He smiled weakly. “You need to go to a hospital.”

“It barely hurts,” he argued, though his whole body seemed to be trying to get away from her. She applied more pressure. “Alright,” he gasped. “Maybe it hurts a little.”

Trixie returned, staying outside of the kitchen and handing her mother the kit. Chloe popped it open and grabbed the scissors. 

Lucifer looked alarmed. “What are you planning on doing with those?” She ignored him. “Detective!” 

She held the scissors up to face. “You want my help or not?”

He pouted, but acquiesced. 

She started cutting the shirt away; it was pulled too tight to get a clear view and she really didn’t want to bother with buttons when he could be bleeding out. She shoved the jacket off his shoulder – he held in an oof, gritting his teeth – and slipped it off his arm, then turned him to get a better look. The angle was shallow but the cut glaringly, worryingly deep, his left side slick and stomach stained with bright red. She guessed he must have managed to skirt around the main thrust of whatever blade cause it. Another couple of inches and he would’ve been scott-free. 

Or, if it had gone through his stomach as she imagined it had intended, dead.

“It's… not that bad,” she said. 

“Tell me you are lying,” he managed. “My dignity might perish otherwise.”

She pushed him until his back was steady against the cupboards then lowered to inspect it. “Shut up,” she said preemptively, at the suggestive angle – her between his splayed legs, hands on either side of his thighs – but he had no retort. She was no anatomy expert, but it seemed to miss the important bits. She replaced the towel. “I’ve seen worse.”

“You work with dead people.”

She fished through the first aid kit till she found the antiseptic. “This is going to hurt.”

He braced himself and kept his mouth tightly shut as she cleaned out the wound, though his back rattled the cupboards as she doused him in it and he kept his gaze firmly elsewhere. She had Trixie grab a couple of towels and lay them on the couch, which she got Lucifer to without complaint. His lack of snide remarks was disconcerting. She had no idea how much blood he’d lost or the circumstances leading up to it. He settled back without complaint, looking nauseous and ashen faced. She sat on the coffee table and started to stitch him up best she could, Trixie kneeling on the floor beside her to watch her work, fascinated. 

“Have you considered taking up knitting?” he asked after several minutes, through gritted teeth.

She took it as a good sign. “Monkey, get Lucifer some orange juice.” Both made a face. She gave her best Mom face to both, startled by their likeness. Trixie obeyed at least. “She likes you,” Chloe commented, amused, as her daughter opened the fridge.

“What’s not to like?”

She quickly finished stitching before Trixie could return, twelve in all, in a straight line despite Lucifer's squirming. She finished taping on the gauze as Trixie supplied the drink, setting it on the table.

“Thank you,” he told them both, in earnest, twisting a bit to inspect her work before settling back heavily against the cushions and falling quiet once more. She slipped off his jacket and what remained of his shirt with his help, the bloodied clothes reminding her too much of her own. He folded the jacket over the arm of the couch and watched blankly as she tossed his shirt in the trash. While up, she retrieved a dampened washcloth, then returned to sit across, lifting it in question. His chest rose and fell heavily, exhausted, but he said nothing. 

She wiped away the blood, trying to touch his skin as little as possible. It burned hot beneath her fingertips, which worried her, then busied herself with collecting bloodied gauze and putting away supplies. He was lean, more than she expected for someone whose livelihood revolved around decadence and excess, and surprisingly defined. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. A bunch of gang tattoos, perhaps. A light sheen of sweat covered him, a by-product of the pain. That didn’t bother her. 

What bothered her was looking at him felt like prying into secrets she wasn’t privy to know.

A purple bloom colored his collarbone on the opposite side. Littering his chest and stomach were nicks, raised scarring ranging from what could only be cigarette burns to inch-long scars, some jagged, others smooth, all old. She would have never noticed them if she hadn't been so close. He watched her carefully, silently. She felt his eyes burning a hole through her.

She gave Lucifer the glass when she was done. He held it, but made no move to drink. “My house, my rules,” Chloe said, not bothering to look up. 

He frowned, but drank it down all the same. “I’d prefer it with vodka, next time. Or champagne.”

Chloe huffed, glancing up. “Fat chance.” 

Trixie hesitated beside her, then crawled over her onto the couch on to be on his good side. Lucifer tried to scoot away, but had nowhere to go. “What happened?” she asked.

Chloe stood and gathered up the towels and supplies. Lucifer grinned, looking happy someone finally asked. He pushed himself a bit more upright. “So there’s this hitman, you see, Jimmy the Carpenter, who has a penchant for taking out his victims with a –”

“Ah –” she stopped him. “PG, please.”

“But Mommy –”

“Detective, surely –”

She raised a hand. Their protestations stopped. She walked away. 

“With a screwdriver, of all things.” Lucifer whispered, settling back down. “Tragic, really. No style at all –”


	7. Chapter 7

Chloe returned with a glass of water and a grey t-shirt that had always been too big for her and shooed Trixie away to the kitchen table to start on homework. Lucifer kept one hand placed gingerly over his side and accepted the shirt with the other, shaking it out to see it properly.

“N-sync,” he read, disbelieving. He flipped it for her to see (as if she didn’t already know). The offending letters stuck out in faded, glittery pink, worn from being through the wash too many times. “Big fan of the nineties? Do you have a sparkly choker to go with it?” He considered it. "Actually if you _do_ -"

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she reminded him, pleased he was obviously feeling better. He shrugged into the shirt without her help, though it took a few extra moments. It hung long and loose over his frame. Finally, he settled back, stifling a groan. She waited until he was done, then opened a hand to reveal a single, white pill. “Oxycodone. Leftover from my surgery, which I had at a _hospital._ ” 

He plucked it up and held it between his fingers. “You know one isn’t going to do much, yes?” At her look, he deflated. “Yes, fine, beggars and all.”

She stood firm. “If I so much suspect you’ve got bleeding or a fever or anything I’m taking you straight to St. Claire’s whether you like it or not. I haven’t had to stitch up anything but teddy bears and frayed hems in a long time, and certainly not with emergency supplies that have been sitting there for God knows how long. Got it?”

He did. She left him to go help Trixie and see what she could get started for dinner. He listened to her clean up and waited until her back was turned before pushing himself solidly upright and searching the coffee table for something that might be useful in crushing it into a powder. Books, a coaster, and some kind of – art thing? – which looked promising. He spared a look behind him before reaching for it, keeping firm pressure over where she’d stitched him up. The ceramic was weighty, fit in his hand, and was roughly rectangular-shaped, sporting two big bug eyes and a small mouth. He turned it over to inspect if the bottom was suitable. 

_Trixie Espinoza ‘16,_ it read in black sharpie, in what must have been the art teacher’s handwriting, followed by what could only be the child’s scrawl. _Miss Alien._

Something tugged inside him. He listened to the child ramble on about her day behind him, followed by Chloe’s laugh. He set it back down on the table and picked up the water instead. He took the pill then pushed himself to lie properly on the couch. He shut his eyes, listening to the disconcertingly foreign sounds of domesticity behind him, and willed the damn thing to work.

*

The afternoon turned slowly into evening and Lucifer had not stirred. Chloe continued to check on him, but his breathing was steady and even. His arm was still stretched across his torso, but his hand hung limply, and his legs crossed at the ankles in what looked like a comfortable enough position. He still had his shoes on. Whatever adrenaline had led him to her place had long worn off, and though he would probably argue it, the oxy had helped him to relax. That, or he hadn’t slept properly in too long, if the red lining around his eyes were any indication. 

Trixie tiptoed beside her and peered over the back of the couch at their very own sleeping beauty. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

Chloe rubbed her back reassuringly. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, monkey. C’mon. Time to brush your teeth.”

She helped her daughter get ready for bed and read an extra chapter to help her wind down. She left her bedroom door open an inch, closing it a bit more than she usually would, and flicked on a lamp in the living room. The low, warm light was enough to read by, but not so much as to wake him. Chloe didn’t have work tomorrow, which was lucky, for despite the ache behind her eyes she didn’t think she could will herself to sleep with Lucifer in his current state. She settled into an armchair, tucked her feet under her, and opened a book in her lap. 

She tried to read it. Really. But her eyes kept wandering of their own accord, making it impossible.

Lucifer’s chest rose and fell slowly. His head was relaxed, tilted toward her, and his expression held none of the aloof, semi-permeable arrogance she had come to expect. Sleep softened him to nearly the point of unrecognizability. It made her wonder how much effort it took to maintain the mask. Whatever he had been doing over the last few weeks to get those people in her custody had taken its toll. There was no reason for him to do any of it. None that she could think of, anyway. Did he have enough of a god-complex to think he could succeed where the L.A.P.D. had failed? Was he blowing through the criminal element to get to Herrera, or did these people cross his path at the wrong time? What was he trying to accomplish? 

He didn’t stir as she came over. Carefully, she undid he belt and slid it off him, watching his face for any betraying smile. She rolled it up and placed it on the table, then made quick work of his shoes. As soon as they were off, he pulled his knees in and began to turn over onto his bad side. She set the shoes aside and sat down opposite just as he inhaled sharply, waking himself up with the pain. She stuck a hand on his shoulder to keep him from going any further and falling off the couch. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” she said soothingly. He blearily looked up at her, surprised, then blinked and looked around. “You’re at my place, remember?” He groaned, then gently swung his legs down to push himself upright. “You okay?”

“Better,” he said, taking a few steading breaths. Her hand drifted from his shoulder to his elbow and stayed there. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

Little by little, the mask shifted back into place, and the open Lucifer of moments ago was gone. She didn’t understand why her chest ached so at seeing it go, but she put the thought away and lifted his shirt to inspect her work. There seemed to be no change, and at this point, that was good. Lucifer was quiet as she replaced the gauze. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked. His brow knit. “What?”

“I thought you would have exorcised the Devil by now.”

She stared. “You’re injured. I hope you realize I wouldn’t have let you leave until I knew you were going to be fine.”

His surprise hit her like a punch to the gut. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m famished, actually.”

Food. That she could handle. Soon enough he was at the dining room table demolishing a bowl of chili – “the spicier the better” – while she listened to a bewildering story that bordered on incomprehensible in its complexity, even for her, and she put murderous two-and-twos together for a living. He had pulled the curtains behind her shut without a word. She turned the light above the oven on, but it still left them in heavy shadows. It felt appropriate. The quiet of the house at night made her feel secure. Safe. 

“So let me get this straight,” she interrupted. “You’re telling me all your little gifts -”

“Gifts?” he asked. “I would have considered them trophies. Gifts are given. Trophies are earned. But do continue.”

Was he saying she earned the trophies, or he did? It didn’t matter. She shook her head. “It started when Hofmeister’s protégé killed some up and coming Eurostar singer on tour here who happened to be having a flirtation with Sergi Van –”

“A _flirtation,_ really.”

“– Vanlian,” she finished firmly, “who then hired Boris Sokolov to find a fall guy because he was going to kill the guy.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“And you learned about it beforehand.”

“Don’t look so surprised. I gave the involved parties a choice. Me or the police.” He pushed the empty bowl aside. “That agent – what was his name?”

“Hanson.”

“Hanson. I knew his player from a while back, who asked for my help when his lover of the evening turned up face down in his swimming pool. It was a great party, but not that great.”

Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “What does any of this have to do with Herrera or Justin Green? Or you feeling the need to visit a hitman?”

He grinned. “Now this is where it gets interesting. Sokolov has his fat little fingers on the pulse of the pathetic, you see. People who are willing to do time for money.”

She shook her head at the thought. “I can’t believe it can come down to that.”

He looked taken aback. “Everyone has a price.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course you do,” he said darkly. He tilted his head toward her daughter’s room. “Think of what you would do if somebody took her.” 

Her eyes alighted on the door. She fought the urge to run inside and scoop her daughter up, if only to reassure herself of her safety. It was a familiar enough feeling. She didn’t know what she would do, to be honest. She tried not to stray down that path in her mind. 

Lucifer touched her forearm, snapping her out of it. “The point is someone contacted him for the murder of my employee, looking for a fall guy.” 

“Who?” 

“No idea. What I did find out before I was so rudely stabbed at was that Jimmy was the one who was hired to actually do the deed.”

“So whoever wanted Justin dead hired Jimmy to kill him, and then Boris to find someone to go down for it. That sounds like someone willing to spend a lot of money for the murder of one guy.” 

“And not even anyone particularly important,” Lucifer mused. “Makes you wonder what he thought he’d be getting in return. Nobody invests that sort of cash without a guarantee of one. Both of those men aren’t just professionals, detective. They are _the_ professionals.”

“It’s literally overkill,” she agreed. She snorted. “I can’t believe you went after a hitman alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. Well, not totally. Maze was – _bloody hell, Maze,_ ” he jumped to his feet and scrambled over to the couch and dug through his jacket. He retrieved his phone and returned, scrolling rapidly. 

“Is she okay?” Chloe asked, touched at his concern.

“At least she's blowing up my phone and nothing else.” He set the phone on the table and speed dialed as he lowered himself back down into the seat. “Maze can take care of herself.” The screen flashed as she picked up. It was a video call. Lucifer held the phone up to see her properly, and Chloe pulled her chair closer to see but stayed out of frame. She was shocked that he trusted her enough to call her right in front of her. It sent a bolt of warmth through her, and she scooted closer, her knee brushing his under the table.

“Where the hell have you been?” Maze asked. Chloe couldn’t tell what part of the city she was in, but she was definitely outside. Traffic roared nearby. 

“Ah,” he smiled, then turned so Chloe could be seen beside him. 

Maze scoffed. “Your pet detective. Great.”

“Hey!” Chloe protested. 

Lucifer ignored them both. “And Jimmy? Spa or tanning salon?”

Maze spit. “Spa.”

“Good girl,” he praised. “His men?”

“No promises.”

“Any new toys?”

She smirked, pleased. “Oh, yeah.”

He nodded. “Anything else?”

Maze hesitated, looking to Chloe’s side of the screen. “Nothing that can’t wait.” 

“Maze.”

“Nothing important,” she amended. “Nothing relevant to your current project,” she airquoted.

“Alright,” he conceded. He went to hang up.

“Wait,” Maze asked, stopping him. “Are you okay?”

He flashed a grin. “Right as rain. Check this out.” He lifted the shirt and pulled the gauze aside to show Chloe’s work, then lifted the phone back up to see her reaction.

She lifted a scarred eyebrow. “Better than I would have done.”

“Yes, I am aware.” He paused. Chloe watched his face, but whatever was there was hidden from her. “You’ll know when I get back.”

“Fine,” Maze said, then she ended the call. Lucifer clicked the phone off and shifted in his seat.

“Spa or tanning salon?” Chloe repeated, curious. 

“Oh, ah. She left him alive.”

“You wanna elaborate?” She put up a hand, surprised at her lack of inner conflict. “I promise I won’t use it against you.”

He licked his lips, deciding. “Spa as in one of those Swedish med spas, meaning hospital. Tanning salon as in tanning booth as in coffin. Simple enough.”

Chloe filed it away for later. There was too much to process right now and her brain definitely felt like it was treading water. Lucifer’s few hours of rest, plus a bit of food, seemed to invigorate him. His color was certainly better. She, on the other hand...

“This is exciting, isn’t it?” he asked, bumping their knees together casually. “Us working together?” 

“I don’t know if I’d exactly call it together,” she contended. “Though you’ve shot my closing rate through the roof. Pierce – my lieutenant – is furious I won’t tell him what’s going on.”

Lucifer rested back. “Pierce, yes. Dull chap.”

Her mouth fell open. “You know each other?”

“Of course.” He chuckled. “That man is so deep in the bloody closest they’ve crowned him king of Narnia.”

That explained a lot, actually. “How?”

Lucifer sighed, looking to her ceiling to remember. “Came from Chicago, worked Major Crimes until his brother was brutally murdered, you’ll never guess by who, yada yada, moved to L.A. to get away from it all – as if that’s possible.” She must have looked confused. He explained further. “My brother works Chicago. In Chicago,” he swiftly corrected. “Amenadiel. He hates it. But he’s had to take over since my leaving spread everybody a bit thin,” he said, with an inordinate amount of glee. “No one wants to work the Midwest. It’s all meth and ethanol.”

She could imagine. Info on Pierce could wait. To be honest, she was more interested in Lucifer, anyway. He was more relaxed than she had seen, even when they were at his place. She wasn't sure what to think of it. “Your… brother,” she repeated. “You have a lot of brothers?”

Something sharp glinted in his gaze. “Not anymore.” 

She was too tired for his guessing games. She wiped at her face with a hand. “I remember you said something about a disagreement.”

“You really want to know?”

She huffed a laugh. “That, or I’m going to bed. Some of us work for a living.”

“Well that’s your bad luck,” he teased. Their knees brushed again, and neither moved away. The warmth of him felt familiar. Comfortable. He laid an arm across his stomach and pressed gently into his side. “I was young,” he began, tentatively, absently running his fingers over the spot. “The kind of young where you feel like you’re much older and you know things. I don’t know the full extent of what went wrong. Someone was sloppy. Someone got bought off. You can’t trust anyone but the family,” he said, like he had been made to repeat it until the words meant nothing, “and someone forgot that. The end result was my sister – my little sister – she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and they took her.” 

Chloe caught him glancing toward Trixie’s room, but only for the briefest of moments. As though he wouldn’t allow himself to look. “What happened?” she asked, dreading the rest.

He stared at a spot on the table instead. His hand pressed harder. “They didn’t want money. They wanted to send a message. No one is invulnerable. So I took a risk. I told the only people who might have been able to do something. Not just in a go-in-and-murder-everyone sort of way, putting her more in the line of fire. Though I would have been more than happy to –” He stopped himself. “The police raided the place they were holding her. Some airstrip they used for smuggling. My father had been slowly pushing them out of the business. The police got her out. She was fine, for the most part. Though now she keeps a blade with her wherever she goes, last I knew.”

She touched his hand. He inhaled as he let up, as though he hadn’t realized he had been doing it. “I’m glad she was okay.”

He offered her a weak smile in thanks. Then it changed. “My father wasn’t.” 

She blinked. What kind of -

The chair scraped back as he suddenly rose. “All ancient history now. Thank you for the shirt. And the stitches.”

She got up as he returned to the couch. “You’re leaving?” He gathered up his things, gingerly slipping the jacket back over his shoulders. “I didn’t even see your car,” she said, as he shoved his feet back into his shoes, not bothering to tie them.

He adjusted the collar with one hand. “Took the Corvette instead. Less conspicuous.”

Only he would think so. It was concern for his well being, no doubt, that had her following him to the door as he opened it. He offered a tight smile and stepped out. “O -” he shut it behind him, leaving her in a misstep. “-kay.”

The latch clicked with a sense of finality.

So that’s how it was going to be. Fine. _Fine._

There was no reason to get upset. Lucifer was like one of those foxes that got their head stuck in a pop can and wandered over to the nearest passerby for help. As soon as the problem was fixed, he darted back into the woods without a second look. At least he gave her some serious info before running off. Not that any of it was anything but hearsay at this point. She couldn’t blame him. He had probably spent a lifetime avoiding the accumulation of evidence, rather than helping in collecting it.

Still.

She hadn’t had a partner since she was a beat cop. Sure, a few of the older detectives would take her out with them, especially when she first made rank, under the pretense of showing her the ropes. Really they just wanted a bit of eye candy while going about their business, barely including her and certainly not trusting her when push came to shove. She got passed around enough times to realize what was happening and put a stop to it, though not before they could compare notes. It sickened her enough that she didn’t ask for a partner again. 

Then Palmetto happened, and she found a whole new way to ostracize herself.

Strange thing was, she actually did like working with Lucifer. He had contacts she could only ever dream of and insight that cops usually took decades to gather. He could be a great asset, if she could manage it. Manage him. For now it felt like Lucifer and protocol went together like snow pants and elephants.

But there was always tomorrow, and for the first time in a long time, she felt optimistic.

 * 

Lucifer could kick himself. He settled for pressing a hand to his aching side until he saw stars. He could only guess what Maze would say to him, if he ever let her. What part of never trust anyone was having trouble going through that thick skull of his? 

Chloe had admitted to being Herrera's spy, at least, and no matter what she said it didn’t mean she wasn’t still working for the man. He had been on Lucifer’s case since the moment he landed in L.A. As though he didn’t have bigger fish to fry. Certainly made Lucifer jump through all sorts of extra hoops in buying Lux, getting a liquor license, and even showed up on its opening night to scope out the place. He sure as hell made sure Lucifer knew he was there, flashing his badge to anyone and everyone. Prick.

But Chloe - oh, she was good. She seemed to be on his side, interested in helping him get justice (not revenge, it seemed) for his man. Lucifer knew liars, and everything about her pointed to her not being one. 

Truly, he hoped she wasn’t a pawn. Not for his sake. For hers. Why couldn’t he just bed her and get it over with? Get her out of his system. Then they could really focus on what was important.

He made it back to Lux with satisfying images of retaliation swirling in his mind, containing mostly Jimmy’s face - though he was sure Maze had already left in him in quite a state - and Herrera’s smug mug, preferring to imagine his pretty white teeth scattered all over the penthouse’s shining black floors.

He made it up to the penthouse without incident, coming up from the garage instead of the club, though before the elevator doors even opened he knew he wouldn’t be alone. The evening had barely begun, and it seemed that in the absence of the club owner certain parties had felt the need to commandeer his home for their festivities. He shut his eyes, buttoned the blood-caked jacket, and took in a few deep, steadying breaths before the doors slid open.

He stepped through, leveling his gaze as he searched the room for a familiar face. Only one person could invite such mess into his life. Strobe lights matched the tempo of the music thumping through his speakers, lighting the dark space in snapshots of crimson and gold. Bodies moved together, pressing close, the air thick with the heady aroma of sweat and sex. He moved through them, prowling. Other images flashed: two couples in the hot tub, splashing one another; glasses and bottles catching the light as they were passed between greedy hands; the glint of a mirror while someone cut up a line of coke. Slowly, he became recognized. Hands brushed over his stomach, his arms, accompanied by laughter, invitations to dance, to drink, to stay a while. He caught the tousle of blonde beside his stairs and slipped beside Delilah’s dancing form, her little black number hiked high on her thighs above skin-tight black boots. 

It took a few beats for her to notice someone standing still beside her; she turned with a bright smile at the ready, her pupils blown wide. “Lucifer!” she squealed.

He did not return the sentiment.

She closed the space between them and let her hands trail down his neck to his chest, her hips never quite still. She pouted at his lack of reaction. “What’s wrong?”

What's wrong was that all he really wanted to do was drink himself to sleep. “I’ve had a long day,” he told her, bending carefully to speak into her ear. She encouraged his hand to rest on her waist, her own snaking up to cup his jaw, and playfully nipped at his ear as he spoke.

“Oh,” she cooed, sympathetic. He pulled back slightly, the loud music starting to grate on his patience. She looked up at her him through thickly mascaraed lashes. “Can I make you feel better?” She got up on her tiptoes. “I made sure no one touched your bed.”

He appreciated that. She must have stayed near the stairs all night to make sure no one passed into his private chambers. Dedicated, this one. Her hips swayed suggestively, but with the injury, there was no way he would be able to do what she was hoping he’d would tonight.

A dedicated employee. Those he could accumulate. Lovers, the same. But a friend? 

Why the sudden fascination? Allies and enemies were all he had been concerned about before. Two easily separable camps. Occasionally someone may switch from one to the other, but friends? Was it a sort of ally you relied upon more heavily? In what way? Maze came to mind, but they - well, they had known one another for what felt like ever, and he could scarcely remember a time when he didn't know about her past, her likes, her dislikes, so there must have been some point where they spoke of such matters, but more likely his knowledge was just the simple accumulation of facts over time. It's not as though their pillow talk had ever been about their deepest, darkest secrets.

Delilah must have sensed his hesitation and cut away, leaving him by the wall. “Everybody out!” she shouted, over and over, until people were stumbling for the elevator, most of them eager to relocate downstairs. It took several trips. When the last lingering few were gone, she grabbed the remote and turned the music and lights off, then ducked behind the bar before returning to his side. He shucked off his shoes then sat on the bed and she poured him a glass, setting the decanter on his nightstand. The silence rang in his ears and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, lit only by the bar and through the black curtains at his back from the ever-bustling city below.

Delilah held the glass out for him to take, but he needed an extra moment to remove his jacket. She snorted at his shirt, shifting her weight to a hip, then became serious as he took it off to discard far, far away. “Oh,” she said, eyes wide. “You have had a bad day.”

He finally took the glass., only to set it on the nightstand. “Thank you, Delilah. You may go.” She bit her bottom lip, disliking the command. He recognized the look. “Is there something else?” 

Instead of answering, she slowly knelt down between his legs and placed her hands gently on his thighs. "I can make you feel better," she informed him.

Lucifer paused. He was tired, and not at his full strength and vigor, but the soft glow from the bar lit her platinum blonde hair in such a way that it reminded him of someone else; her roots were back to their illustrious shine, so she must have gotten them done lately. It was nothing he would have particularly noticed before. Maybe it was just the angle now that he could appreciate it.

She let one hand curl around his calf as she rested her cheek atop his knee. "Would you rather talk about it?" she asked with a little smile.

Lucifer allowed himself to rest back, placing his weight on the hand of his good side. The movement stretched the stitches enough to notice, but not enough to complain. Not with a beautiful women between his legs. And yet she wasn't, necessarily, _the_ woman he wanted there - maybe not at just this moment, but his enjoyment of her likeness to a certain other blonde was enough to give him pause. "Are we..." He didn't appreciate the vulnerability in the question, but pushed on regardless. "Friends?"

She lifted, mildly confused. "What?"

"Friends," Lucifer repeated. "Are you offering because you're under my employ, or because... you..." _want me?_

Delilah rose up on her knees, still shorter than him sitting down but enough to look him squarely in the face. "You know I never do what I don't want to do," she said, sternly. He wasn't sure of its veracity, but she seemed to be. "Lucifer," she said more softly, "I would like to be your friend. If you let me."

He nodded once, unsure. How did one go about _that_ process?

She rose to stand and placed her hands on either side of his face, then gave a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling back. “Sorry about the party. I didn’t know.”

It wasn’t alright, and he wasn’t going to say so and lie to her, so he said nothing. 

She trailed her fingers under his chin as she backed away. “Call me later?” she asked, then stepped carefully down the stairs. Only through his lingering imagination did Herrera’s name come back into his mind. 

“Actually, darling,” he said, stopping her as he pushed himself more upright, covering the wound with his hand. The spark of pain reminded him why he sustained it in the first place, and that brought anger up as the principally guiding emotion. “Are you up for a challenge?”

She twitched an eyebrow, intrigued.

He grinned. Herrera wanted to spy on him?

Two could play that game.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this is where some certain tags come in. ;)  
> Also, this is my favorite chapter so far.

In Chloe’s line of work, there weren’t really typical days. She could joke about the repetitiveness of the little things, those rituals people established to inject some sense of normality into their work lives. There was always the bureaucratic battle that was never-ending paperwork, the jittery coffee machine that needed a good descaling, Dan accusing Rodriguez of stealing his pudding. Her days had become less routine since Lucifer started sending her people, but one thing she could always count on - before he entered into her life, anyway - was that criminals were always eager to insist their innocence. When they did confess, it came with long, complicated back stories, involving the range of human emotion as they blundered through explaining their motivations; later, on the stand (if they made it to trial) things would become clearer.

She stretched, leaning back in her desk chair. The mid morning sun shone invitingly through the upper windows. 

“Decker,” called out another detective, leading in a man by the arm, and not particularly gently, either. 

“What’s up?” she asked.

He lifted a chin toward the interview room. “Guy here wants to talk to you.”

She gathered her things while he got the guy set up. She dismissed him, taking a seat. “I’m Detective Decker,” she introduced. “How can I help you?”

She should have guessed. The man across was young, early twenties maybe, African American, his clothes grease stained. He licked his lips and wrung his hands beneath the table. “I need to report a crime. I killed someone. I’m here to confess,” he said, oddly formal. Coached. Same as people on the stand.

She laid her pencil down. “Who did you kill?”

“Justin Green,” he said, careful to enunciate. He hadn’t met her eyes once.

Chloe listened hard, but there was no way to tell if someone was in the viewing room. She cleared her throat and scooted closer, trying to make her leaning in look like she was having trouble understanding him. “What’s your name?”

“Dante.”

“Dante,” she repeated, low. “Listen to me. I know what you’re trying to do here. Tell me who is putting you up to this.”

His eyes widened. “Nobody. I got the murder weapon. It’s at my house.”

She put up a hand to calm him down. “We can help each other, here. I know you didn’t kill Justin because I know who did. If you can tell me who is asking you to say otherwise, and what he’s promised in return, we can ensure no harm comes to you.” 

He had obviously not expected this turn of events. He wiped his face, struggling. She gave him time to process. “My mom - she’s sick.”

“Dante,” Chloe interrupted. “The man who promised you money is already being held on other charges. It might not be coming.”

“You sure?” he questioned, in a small voice.

“Yes,” she pressed. 

He took in a deep breath. Guys like him didn’t trust the police. They weren’t in the wrong, and she couldn’t blame him, but she really didn’t want some kid to go away for a crime he didn’t commit. 

“What do you want to know?” 

 

She let the kid go with a promise that he’d be available when she needed him, fully aware she was sticking her neck way out on Lucifer’s word and his word alone and breaking a bunch of protocols in the process. He hadn’t told her anything new, but at least he was a legitimate lead. She walked him out to the public area and made sure he was out the door before turning to head back.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one. Herrera was waiting for her in the hall. “Who was that?” he asked, with straining, feigned disinterest. 

“He had some info on a case,” she said, honestly. She brushed past him and continued back through to Homicide. He followed.

“What case?” he asked.

“An old one. Not relevant. What’s up?”

He ground his teeth together when he smiled. “Just checking in on you. How’s Morningstar?”

She shrugged, uncommitted. “Haven’t seen him.”

“I’d like it if you did,” Herrera said, as they got back to her desk. “What’s stopping you? He can’t be too busy for a pretty lady like you.”

She didn’t dignify his statement with a response. 

“Here’s the thing,” he continued, voice softening. “I’m worried about you. I wouldn’t want to be left out of the loop if Morningstar’s got something big brewing in the works.”

As if that was suddenly her job. As if she didn’t have a job of her own. “What makes you think he does?” she asked, sitting.

“Guy like that - they don’t keep still. Always scheming. Makes you wish -”

“You could be ahead of them, for once?”

He grinned and opened his hands. “See, you get it. That’s where you come in. You even got into his apartment. None of my other people got near that far. And what you do up there - hey, that’s your business. I don’t care. I just need something from you, Decker. Something substantial.”

It sounded an awful lot like a threat. 

He gestured toward her lieutenant’s office. “You don’t think I should talk to Pierce about it, do you? Maybe lessen your workload a bit if he’s good with us timesharing, now that you're all reinstated. I can imagine it’s been pretty hectic for you since you got back.”

Yeah, no. She wasn’t going to be made to look like some fragile girl. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” She steeled herself. “I’ll get you something.”

“You sure?” he asked, dripping with fatherly concern.

She swallowed back bile rising in her throat. “Yep.”

He sighed, relieved. “Okay, Decker. You just let me know. Talk to you soon.”

He left, not quite a spring in his tight step, but still a bit too confident for her liking. How did she get into this mess? What could she tell him that would get him off her back and off the scent? The last thing she needed was Herrera knowing they were onto him - if that’s what this was.

It was looking more and more like Lucifer was right.

She stepped outside, turning the phone over in her hands in an isolated corner. She finally made herself dial, deciding what to ask as it rang.

Lucifer picked up on the sixth ring. “Detective, hello. Couldn’t stay away?”

“Hey. Herrera’s getting on my case. I need to give him something that’ll keep him busy for a while. Some kid came in trying to take the fall for Green and I think he knew that.”

There was a pause. “That is unfortunate. Though I’m not sure what you had in mind.”

She tapped a finger against her lips, debating if it was too much to ask. All he could do was say no. “Could you -” _Don’t sound weak, Decker._ “You could tell me the names,” she dropped into a whisper, “of the cops you know. The ones who turn a blind eye, take bribes. That sort of thing.”

Lucifer was quiet on the other line. She resisted the urge to fill the silence. 

“Are you serious about helping me or not?” she finally asked.

“Now, hold on, detective, I am,” he rebutted. “Give a man a moment. I am wounded, you know.”

“Uh huh,” she said, eyeing a couple of incoming officers who were giving her curious looks. That’s what she got for lurking. “That’s better than me waking you up.” She realized how it sounded a beat too late. “Not that that’s -”

“I’ll have a list to you shortly.”

“Wait,” she turned her attention back to the call. “You’re serious?”

“Your lack of faith disturbs me.”

She snorted. “Okay, Vader.”

“Darth, please. My father is Vader.”

“You do realize -” she stopped herself. “Never mind. A list how?”

“Not by bloody messenger pigeon, if that's what you're wondering.” She definitely wasn't. “I’ll send someone.” 

“That’s really not - and he hung up.” She shook it off and returned inside, wondering if the list was going to magically appear on her desk without anyone seeing, like the flowers had.

Unfortunately, they did not.

Unfortunately, because the list came attached to Maze. 

Chloe returned from the bathroom with the woman sitting in her chair in a black and white jacket, boots up on her desk, eating a chocolate pudding clearly labeled DAN, looking every bit as smug as her employer without any of the placating suaveness. In fact, she seemed to revel in the looks she was receiving. 

Chloe stood beside her and crossed her arms. 

Maze pointed at her with the plastic spoon as she spoke. “You know what, Decker? I like you.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep.” She swept her feet off the desk. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants. I can respect that.” She stirred the cup. “So. Have you slept with Lucifer, yet?”

“ _Um,_ no.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Too bad. You should. It’d help loosen you up.” She looked her over leisurely, considering. “Though I could see you as the type who likes to give orders.” She bade Chloe closer. “He loves that.”

“Gross.” She tried to shake it off. “Did you bring what I asked for or not.”

“Sheesh,” she said, getting to her feet and slipping the spoon into her mouth to dig into her pocket, retrieving a crumpled piece of paper. She held it enticingly between her fingertips, stepping in close. “Lucifer can be a real handful. Definitely a two woman job. I'm down if you are.”

Chloe stayed her ground, trying to nod as though they were two normal adults have a normal conversation in a normal workplace. “You are a very, very deranged person.”

Maze smiled. “Thanks,” she said, sticking the spoon between her teeth to scrape it off. She brushed the side of Chloe’s jacket to get a better look beneath it and hummed approvingly. “You know, at first I was pissed at him for wanting to give this to you. Years worth of contacts, relationships, whatever. Another piece of the kingdom he’s hellbent on giving up. Till I realized that giving them to you meant they’d be taken out of play.”

 _He’s... what?_ Chloe took the note. “I’m guessing you were the kind of kid who broke toys when asked to share.”

Maze laughed, slipping past. “Same page, Decker.”

“Totally different books.”

She tossed the trash onto Dan’s currently-unoccupied desk, then turned and disappeared up the stairs, a laugh trailing behind her.

Dan returned, bright and fully caffeinated. “Hey, what the -” He seethed. “Who ate my pudding?”

Chloe shut her eyes.

 _Back to work, Decker._ She gingerly uncrumpled the piece of paper - torn from some kind of sketchpad, she thought, the paper thick and tactile - to view a list of names in an unfamiliar handwriting. Given the chicken-scratch quality, she guessed Maze.

A very long list of names.

Which included two she instantly recognized: Malcolm Graham and Anthony Paolucci. Did Lucifer realize what he’d just given her? Not just a list of dirty cops, a list that was sure to keep Herrera off her back for a while, at least. No. 

_The_ dirty cops. The cops who no one else in the precinct believed were making deals with drug dealers and hit men. She kept her cool, but her breath came in shuddering and shallow. This proved she was right. Proved it without a doubt that her gut hadn’t led her astray, despite everyone - including Dan - taking the side of “hero” Malcolm who took a bullet while trying to get a bad guy. She’d have to tell Lucifer. Her heart leapt at the thought - maybe he’d be just as excited as she was. Just as relieved. 

Dan had noticed her standing there, probably shaking in her boots. He leaned back in his chair and looked over his shoulder at her. “What’s that?” he asked.

“I was right,” she said, disbelieving she could finally say the words. “I was right about Palmetto.”

His face fell. 

Served him right.

 

Maze’s comment was… distracting. Chloe put off thinking about it while at work, managing to get through the rest of her day and back home before her mind went into relax mode and Maze’s words came tumbling through the barrier she’d erected in her mind. He loves that, she’d said, about Lucifer taking orders. _He loves that._

Chloe shuddered again, though for an entirely different reason. She had no reason to believe her, but somehow it just felt… right. Dan had joked a bit about him liking it when she gave him orders in bed, but nothing serious. And it wasn’t as though she was into that lifestyle. She’d seen enough weirdos living in L.A. to put her off dipping her toe into any sort of established practice or scene. Though she’d been curious enough to google a little, most of what came up on the search engine had her slamming her laptop shut. 

And yet. 

Lucifer was probably into all sorts of stuff. Stuff she’d be far too self-conscious to even look at, let alone try. They were probably completely incompatible.

_And yet._

That evening she crawled into bed, fingers itching. Lucifer was probably down at his club, doing the mingling thing so long as he felt up to it. 

You know, it wouldn’t be so strange for her to check up on him. Since he had been her patient. And it had been a couple of days. She had a responsibility to the man. She’d been so concerned with Herrera earlier that she’d forgotten to ask. 

She snatched her phone and flipped onto her back. Her knees rose up of their own accord beneath the covers, sliding together as she waited. Every ring ramped up her anxiety more and more, sending jolts of nervous pleasure down her spine. 

“Detective?” he answered, the music loud in the background. “You’re up late.”

“Hey,” she said. The music lessened. He must have stepped away. She could laugh at herself for how good that made her feel. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Ah,” he said. There was a metal creaking sound, then the music cut out completely, replaced by the distant din of traffic. “Not my first rodeo, yes. But healing all fine. Your concern is… thank you for your concern.”

She waited a beat, biting her lip. He cared that she cared. Maybe he wasn't such a wild animal after all. “Your list today… it mean a lot. A couple of the names on there really - well, it proved that I was right about something. Something really important to me. Something big.”

She heard the snap of a lighter and his inhale, the tobacco crinkling as it turned to ash. She never found smoking to be hot, but the image of _him_ smoking swooped low and warm inside her. She imagined him leaning up against a dark wall, just out of reach of a street lamps’ glow like every noir film poster she'd ever seen. “Glad to hear it,” he said, jubilant. “At least some good can come of it.”

She let a hand skirt around her inner thigh, enjoying the image. “Where are you right now?”

“Just outside Lux. Out back. Would you like to say hello to the resident alley cat?”

She laughed. “I’m okay.”

“Where are you right now?” he asked, playing up the suggestiveness. Probably didn’t expect an answer.

He was about to get one.

“In bed,” she said softly. She waited. Her fingers brushed over the front of her thin pajama shorts, teasing. She didn’t need it, but damn if it didn't feel good.

“Really?” She imagined him raising an eyebrow. He took a drag. “And what are you doing… in bed?”

She hummed noncommittedly and let her fingers trail up to her stomach, tracing the soft skin there. How far was she willing to go? She felt the tone of their conversation shift deliciously. “Lucifer,” she said, dipping her hand below her waistband. 

“Yes?” he asked, voice suddenly deeper. Eager.

“What you did for me today was… good. Very good.”

He swallowed.

“You were very good.” She paused, letting her fingers swirl lazily beneath her panties. She bit the bullet. “A very… good boy.”

“Detective,” he said, hoarse. 

She sharply inhaled at the sound, pressing down. “But you’re not, are you,” she continued, allowing herself the fantasy, feeling it simmering red and wanton. “You’re a bad man. You do bad things.” 

“Only to bad people,” he amended. “And only when they deserve it.” Her breath quickened at his darker tone. His voice honeyed. “And I enjoy it. I enjoy giving people their due.”

Her skin flushed with warmth. “Tell me more.”

“Should I?” There was something in his voice - a real reluctance. “Or will it be used against me in a court of law?”

Even his concern was arousing. She had never been so affected by a criminal before. They weren't the men she was supposed to like. She liked steady, dependable men. Men who were supposed to be rock-steady and solid.

And yet all of them had let her down.

A finger slipped in. “Fuck, Lucifer,” she breathed.

He exhaled, soft. He cleared his throat, then she heard the scraping of the cigarette against brick. “ _Detective_. You have no idea what I’ve done,” he began, slow and deep. She mimicked his voice with her hand best she could. The phone shifted closer. _For her ears only._ “When I was young, I was Wrath. Never afraid to get my hands dirty. People came to me when they sought vengeance. And I was the best.” Her breath caught; his picked up. “Wife beaters, molesters, those who slipped through the cracks of the police, eager to return to inflict their violence on _my_ streets -” she jolted at the possessiveness “- they had to go through me.”

She squirmed, twisting the sheets around her legs. She hadn’t had such a fast climb in - god, she didn’t know how long. His breaths came quick and short through his nose, sending a shiver through her. Her hand sped up and she stifled a moan.

His accent shifted into something less put on. “Bloody tossers always underestimated me. Took one look at a lanky wanker with a mop top and thought I’d go down with half a hit. They didn’t know I grew up with six brothers. But, they learned.”

He took in a deep breath, taking a moment to listen to her. She pressed deeper into the pillow, arching under the attention.

“ _Lucifer,_ ” she gasped, close.

“We’re not as different as you might think. They _need_ us. This city. These people. They need people like you and me. _Detective,_ ” he purred, slow and entreating, his voice resuming its silvery poshness. She knew then the Devil was speaking in her ear. “Come play in the dark with me. We could accomplish so much together.”

The offer - that voice - that was it. She didn’t bother to hide her peak from him, keeping it only quiet enough as to not be heard out in the hall. She bit down on a finger, pressing the phone into her cheek, heart beating so loud she was sure he could hear it, too. She rode the waves, longer than when it was just herself, stilling only when she could take no more.

“Detective,” he groaned. It was enough to send a fresh bolt of electricity through her. She’d never forget the sound of her title falling from his lips like that. She wanted to chase it down his throat. Make him say it again and again.

She came down slowly, hiding a smile beneath her comforter, still too high to have any real shyness. “Thank you,” she said, after a blissful moment catching her breath. 

“You’re very welcome,” he responded, his voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s an urgent matter that needs taken care of.”

She giggled, pulling the comforter tighter around her neck, melting into its warmth. “By all means,” she said, trying for serious. “Goodnight, Lucifer.”

She heard him smiling. “Sleep well, detective.”

And, oh, she did.

* 

Lucifer slid the phone into his pocket and adjusted himself, biting his lip to stifle a groan. His head fell back onto the brick of the building with a thud. He couldn’t seem to pull away from palming himself, and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy it. The alleyway was private, but not ideal; the dumpster down the way needed emptying, and the light breeze picked up its scent and sent it down his way. 

Just a few more moments. He was already, ridiculously - 

The alley cat hissed, pulling him out of it. He pushed off the wall and forced his hand to still, willing himself to come down a little before going back inside. The sounds she made…

He slipped back in. Lux wasn’t busy - a Tuesday night would do that to a place - but he turned heads regardless. Every glance felt penetrating, eager, tempting, but they wouldn't satisfy. They were beautiful, but none were the person he wanted. He ignored the bartender’s question and made a beeline for the elevator, every step filling him with want until he was pulsing with it. He jammed the close-door button until it complied, then shoved his hands behind him, against the wall. He must be reacting so strongly because it had been a couple of days since he’d been able to take anyone to his bed, he told himself. Didn’t want to perform when he wasn’t at his best. And her call - her _need_ \- was so unexpected. He was caught off guard, was all. 

The doors opened after an eternity and he tore off his jacket, pulling at the tight, healing skin around the wound in the process but he didn’t care, didn’t care about anything except getting these bloody clothes away from the heat of his prickling skin. He let the jacket fall and made it to the privacy of the bedroom before giving in, collapsing against the wall as he made quick work of his belt, shoving a hand beneath his trousers and gripping himself tight. _God_ , the relief. His knees buckled, but he managed to stay upright and free himself of his pants proper. He gave himself a couple slow, long strokes, lingering in the sensation before it rapidly became not enough and his hips bucked in protest. 

One benefit to an eidetic memory: everything was crystal clear in his mind. Every sigh, every gasp, every cut off sound until she allowed herself to really feel it, really give into him, his voice - his voice _alone_ did it, and he hadn’t even needed to be there, hadn’t needed to say anything sexual (and if that wasn’t a first). He replayed it all back, imagining her making those sounds in his ear, writhing beneath him, her hands skirting over his skin, threading through his hair, their legs tangling, her breath on his neck, her hips pushing up into him, her pert, soft breasts against his chest, needing him, taking him deeper until they were flush together and he was lost, feeling nothing but her around him, pulsing, tight, hot - _Lucifer,_ she’d said just as she came, three breathless syllables - _Detective,_ he responded in kind, mouth falling open, thick and throbbing, thrusting, needing, needing _her,_ nails digging into his shoulder blades until he was slipping over the edge and spilling all over his hand, lewd and slick and warm and oh so bloody _satisfying._

 *

Chloe jerked awake to the echoing ring of the doorbell. She muttered a few nonsense expletives as she pulled herself automatically upright, her bare feet hitting the cool floor: at the earliness of the hour, the disregard for people’s time and sleep, the potential of waking Trixie unnecessarily, especially on a school day. She pawed blearily at an overshirt and wrangled herself into it as she descended the stairs and made the way to the door. Trixie made a noise suggesting she’d woken, too, but first Chloe was curious as to what was so important it couldn’t wait.

She opened the door to find no one. She wiped her face and checked the door for a sticky note suggesting she’d missed the delivery - those drivers never stayed long enough - and, finding nothing, looked down. 

On the doormat sat a stately box. Her cop mind whirled with _suspicious package!_ but she shut it out. As she’d told Lucifer before: she wasn’t going to be afraid to walk out her own front door. It didn’t exactly scream _unabomber,_ either. It was larger than a shoebox and perfectly square, a satiny black and charcoal grey, and wrapped in a single emerald ribbon. A familiar black card stuck out from the unmarked top, and she relaxed. She lifted the box - it was heavier than she expected, prompting a surprised laugh - and brought it to the kitchen counter, where Trixie soon joined her. 

“What is it, mommy?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and already looking significantly more awake than Chloe felt. Oh, to not need coffee. She barely remembered the days.

“Let’s see,” Chloe said, as she read the card. _For your upper cupboard_ read the front in gold, and on the back in silver, _L.M._ She really hoped it wasn’t some kind of sex toy. Especially not considering how heavy it was. She’d like to keep Trixie from being scarred for life until at least age 12, if she could. She let Trixie pull on the ribbon until it gave, and she wrapped it around her small wrist playfully while Chloe opened the lid.

Inside was a thick glass bottle of dark, red-gold liquid, the white of its label intensified by the arrangement of white flowers in which it was nestled. _Angel’s Envy,_ it read, _Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey Finished in Port Wine Barrels._ Etched on the inside of the glass was a set of long, dangling angel wings. Chloe lifted it gingerly from its bed of flowers and turned it over appreciatively, but soon she was stifling a yawn. Trixie lifted herself onto her tiptoes and, at her mother’s okay, ran her fingers over the flowers until she found one she liked.

Chloe glanced at the clock. They still had two hours before either of them had to be awake. “You wanna sleep in mom’s bed?” she asked.

Trixie nodded, still quiet from sleep, and after a quick trip to the bathroom Chloe returned with her daughter to the comfort of still-warm covers. She tucked Trixie in, who was already halfway back to sleep and cradling a delicate white flower to her chest, then laid down beside her and closed her eyes easily.

She felt, strangely, safe.

 *

Lucifer sat barefoot and cross legged at his desk, still clad in silken sleepwear. Ledgers and notations spread out before him at the ready while he stared off into the light of the rising sun. He just got off his fourth phone call of the morning with many more stretching out before him. His last shipment of pharmaceuticals had been distributed to his network of actual pharmacies as well as street dealers, and his man on the other end was very confused at Lucifer informing him he would no longer be requiring his services, despite Lucifer’s many assurances that it had nothing to do with quality or the time it took to reach the coast. He prepared himself for the deep cut to his finances it would represent, though it would pose no significant hardship if he played his cards right. Maze had been dealing with the smaller layoffs. They needed her firm hand to prevent retaliation, and knew better than to ever contact the boss directly. 

He made a brief note in the margins, thinking about the Chinese again. He decided to sell some property fronts to them. They’d get the best use out of them, and would offer the best price. It would help offset the blow, for a short while at least, of discontinuing the sale of his most lucrative products. He sighed, considering. The price of legitimacy, he supposed. He’d been chasing it his whole life, same as all the family, but only now was he faced with sacrificing for it. His father had followed a similar path, coming up from literally nothing, earning his name through less-than-legal ventures, then buying his way into legitimate businesses. He continued to use all the tools at his disposal, thinking himself above such concepts as morality and legality. Needless to say, the man had no interest in retiring.

Despite Charlotte pledging to help him, she could only do so much. Lucifer knew he alone needed to combat the familial indoctrination which had always urged him to acquire more, and the culturally-ingrained toxic idea that his manhood was based on the number in his bank account.

It was all smoke and mirrors, anyway. Cars sat in garages, undriven; houses sat empty when they could be filled with families; jewelry sat in safes with no one to wear them; lovers came and went, undeserving of the label. The accumulation of things, no matter their value, had yet to fill the hollowness beneath his breast, and the warmth of an occupied bed did not carry into his bones. 

Lux itself would be more than enough to sustain him, especially if he sold his multitudinous properties he had only acquired as a way to launder a few surprise finances. Unlike most of the nightclubs in L.A. which seldom lasted more than a season, people had been coming to this club since before the days of prohibition; they weren’t going to be stopping anytime soon. And he could always open Lux Vegas, as he and Maze had discussed earlier that winter. 

Though he found himself reluctant to leave. Even entertaining the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. There was too much to be done here. Herrera had to be dealt with, firstly. But even thinking ahead, imagining a time when that buzzing fly was sufficiently squashed, he had a much easier time picturing himself in the City of Angels than in Sin City. 

Perhaps he just liked the ocean.

He leaned back, wistfully gazing out the glass and into the city beyond, absently tapping the end of the pen against his lips. There was also a who he would be reluctant to leave behind. Not without seeing where things went first, at least. He wondered if she were even awake yet, or if that child of hers insisted on breakfast bright-and-early. He hoped she got to sleep in a little, at least. God knows she probably needed it. 

He huffed out a laugh, imagining the kid coming in and bouncing on the bed to force her out of it. It was certainly something he had never been permitted to do.

He was about to rouse himself from the daydream when the unmistakable click of a handgun filled the silence and a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: As I get closer to completion I think I may be able to wrap this up in 16 chapters, which is great news because that means the sooner I finish the sooner I can start posting more than once a week, but dont be surprised if I have to push it to a higher number. Just a fair warning. :)  
> Happy reading!

Lucifer took in a breath. 

Then another.

Then he knew: if he wasn’t dead yet, they wanted a word. “You have my attention,” he said, holding very still. 

Only the softest give of fabric indicated movement behind him. Lucifer dared to move only his eyes to follow the man as he came around to face him, silhouetted against the brightness of day. 

“Jimmy. You don’t look so good.”

The hitman managed to hold the gun at arm’s length, but Lucifer was being kind: Jimmy looked like he’d been tossed under a bus. Literally. The entire left side of his typically clean-shaven face had been scraped raw, blood-red in the deepest gouges and scabbing over on the shallowest. It extended down his neck until disappearing under his fitted black t-shirt. Lucifer’s eyes flickered down to see that his left hand had suffered the same treatment, and that he held it close to his body, unused. Jimmy had the body of a boxer and the intelligence to match, but that never stopped him from getting the job done.

The right corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer. “You’re fucking dog dragged me behind her fucking bike. For six blocks.”

“You did try to kill me, Jimmy,” Lucifer reminded him. “But! Water under the bridge. What can I do for you?”

The gun never wavered. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Is that all?”

Jimmy used only the slightest of motions to indicate toward the desk. “Write this down.”

“I’ll remember.”

Jimmy sucked some air in through his nose; Lucifer should have noticed the slight whistle before. “I’ve got a body set up in a boat, the _dealer’s choice,_ at the marina del ray. You’re gonna burn it for me. Make sure the police think it’s me. Your girl likes to blow shit up.”

That could only mean one thing. “A parting gift, I assume?”

Jimmy sucked on his teeth. “This town’s too hot right now. Even motherfucking Sokolv’s dropped. And nobody ain’t ever touch him before.”

“About that,” Lucifer began, feigning ease by folding his hands in his lap. “Do you know why I wanted to know who hired you to kill my man?”

Jimmy blinked. “I really don’t care.”

“You should. And if you would have listened instead of resorting to unnecessary violence, I could have explained it before you went to all this trouble. Because it’s exactly what he wanted.”

That got his attention. Lucifer had tried to get the information through that thick skull the first time and was left bleeding out for his troubles. He hoped the second time was the charm. He wasn’t sure he'd survive a third.

"Who?" he asked.

Lucifer didn't want Jimmy going after the lieutenant - that was _his_ prize. "Let's just say I followed the lead you provided, and after applying the right sort of pressure, I discovered the one turning up the thermostat. The man used you in an attempt to start a war, used the Armenians, used my bleedin’ car guy, don’t you see? Justin’s death was supposed to be the cigarette that started a forest fire. He didn’t care if I ever found you. It didn’t matter who I retaliated against because it would all amount to the same thing: us killing each other.”

He looked confused. “So, what. You’re not taking him out?”

“Not in the way you mean. There are other factors at play,” Lucifer said breezily. Now would not be the time to tell Jimmy he was getting out of the game, and that if Herrera were to turn up murdered the detective’s suspicions would fall squarely on his shoulders. “Of course I’d like to ruin him. Legitimately. But I suspect he’s got a benefactor. He doesn't make your paygrade. But. I’ll do as you ask. Tell the police whatever you want me to. But if I myself should require your services, I’d like to know where I can find you.”

Jimmy lowered the gun. “To kill this guy?”

Lucifer knew better than to agree verbally. 

Jimmy shrugged. “I’ll get you my digits.”

Lucifer offered a hand. Jimmy looked at it, then decided to take it. It was cold as ice. “Enjoy your death,” he urged, and it really wasn't a stretch to mean it.

Jimmy left without another word. The door to the emergency stairwell just off the kitchen did little more than displace the air when it was opened; Lucifer waited until he heard it firmly shut behind the man, and a solid few seconds after that, before collapsing forward and letting his face fall into his hands. He had never before felt the need to install a security system. It wasn’t out of carelessness. It was a point of pride, sure, but it also helped to further his reputation: if someone came snooping and saw he didn’t have one (that they could see, anyway), he knew they would be left wondering what the hell he did have protecting him. The mystery would conjure up impossibilities, more than he could ever manufacture himself. Reputations grew at the same rate as the fish that got away.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, anger building. Every fiber of his being was coiling, getting ready to lash out. He shook with the effort to keep it at bay as the small voice in the back of his head kept asking why like some petulant child. 

_Why not retaliate? Why not just kill Herrera? Just end it, do what you’ve always done, be who you’ve always been, don’t bother trying to change, why change at all?_

He burst upright, rolling his shoulders back and beginning to pace. 

_You were safer before you started all this, richer, unhurt, no one would have ever dared enter your home, ever dared to cross you, you were feared once._ The voice took on his father’s shaking, enraged timber, a sound that brought enemies to their knees. _You want to be nothing? A nobody?_

And just like that, all the anger drained out of him. All thoughts ceased but one, achingly familiar.

_Lucifer Morningstar hurts people._

But instead of rallying him as it had done in the past, Lucifer was paralyzed. Never before had another force tugged on his subconscious, let alone one with equal and opposite appeal. He was going through all this trouble to be able to _stop_ going through all this trouble. To stop being someone who needed to be feared. To stop wondering if people only wanted to remain on his good side for what he could do for them. To stop wondering if they wanted him at all. 

Maze was right about one thing: they had just begun, leaving Lucifer stuck at a crossroads. He could never go back the way he came; that was closed to him. Ahead lay two paths: he could continue building his influence, expand his business ventures, rekindle relationships and establish new contacts, disintegrate or incorporate the competition, rise higher until he was untouchable even by the likes of police lieutenants. His father’s footsteps. 

Or.

He could become touchable.

To be vulnerable was to be at the mercy of others, and in his experience, others lacked mercy. Which left him standing in the middle of his living room, teetering between two worlds.

The sound of a text roused him. Probably Jimmy giving him his contact info. He went to check. 

_\- Hey. Wanted to say thanks. You know you don’t have to get me stuff, right? i only ever used the bourbon for hot apple cider._

_-Trixie liked the flowers_

He stared at the screen. Another text popped up: a picture of the child, asleep he assumed, nestled in a cloud of white with a flower held loosely in her hands.

_\- Just wanted to show you._

Not _thanks for last night._ Not _thanks for getting me off._ Just… thanks. For something as simple as a bottle of alcohol and the box he had it sent in.

_-I'll let you know if anything comes up. giving over the list today. hope you're feeling better._

Was she being a little cheeky? He decided she was. As he thought of what to reply, a different text popped up.

Jimmy’s number. 

He deleted it.

*

Herrera had the confidence of a man who had nothing to hide. Chloe tapped a knuckle on his open door, peeking inside his office; he was on the phone, listening, and held up a finger for her to wait. “Just a minute,” he mouthed, eyes alighting on the paper in her hand. She nodded and stepped out of sight, but stayed close.

“No, I understand completely,” he said. He listened. “That’s - no, it won’t be an issue. That’s why there’s always a plan B. And C, and D,” He laughed, charming. “Everything’s being handled.” He paused again. “Of course, thank you, sir. Looking forward to it. The 26th, correct?” He listened. “Looking forward to it. I’ll keep you updated. Thank you.”

He hung up the phone with a clatter and scratched something down on paper, then cleared his throat. “Decker,” he called out, betraying the distance he thought she must have gone. She waited a few beats, then came around the corner, sticking a bit of extra bounce in her ponytail. “Shut the door, would ya?” he asked, when she was inside.

“Sir.”

He couldn’t seem to decide whether to sit or stand. Standing won out. “Tell me you’ve got something good.”

She stepped forward and handed over the list. Even with a copy sitting in her desk and another at home, turning it over felt like giving up a part of herself. A part of Lucifer. His eyes swept over the names, widening. 

“How did you get this?” 

She’d been wracking her brain for day trying to come up with a suitable explanation, one that wasn’t flat out lying, and hadn't been successful. Her hesitation showed. 

“Decker.”

She decided something like this was too important to lie about, especially if the Palmetto case relied on it. “He gave it to me. Morningstar. I asked and he provided.”

“Jesus,” Herrera said, running a hand over his face and taking a seat. 

“I can’t be sure all the names are accurate,” she allowed. “It could be posturing. A fear tactic. A way for us to spend a hell of a lot of time and effort running around going behind each other’s backs, manipulating us into distrusting our people.”

He nodded slowly, still looking over the names. 

“But,” she continued, “Lucifer… I don’t believe he had reason to lie. Not to me.”

Herrera’s brow knit. He looked up at her, and, seeing something she could only guess at, set the paper down and leaned back. “I know I told you to get as close as you were comfortable getting but I didn’t mean, you know. Emotionally. I’ve read your file. You’re smarter than that.”

She scoffed. ‘That’s not what -”

He cut her off. “If he is attempting to take advantage of you, or manipulate your actions, your way of thinking about him, the situation, I am telling you, Decker, that man is a snake. How do you think he’s got so many names on this list?” 

She’d had enough. She marched forward. “Lieutenant, with all due respect, this is not my assignment and I am not your officer. I already have a job to do. If you want to admonish me for succeeding where all of your people have failed, then I have no reason to continue this arrangement.”

He held her gaze. “Do not let him make you another name on this list.” 

She looked down at his finger, tapping the litany of names. Below the paper was his calendar. She found the 26th and read best she could upside down.

“If you think that’s possible,” she said carefully, stepping back and holding her chin high, “then you don’t know me at all.”

She stormed out and pulled out her phone as soon as she was out of eyeline, then quickly googled the name on his calendar, her heart pounding in her throat. The little voice in her head alternated between _could be nothing_ and Lucifer’s words about investments and returns. The search resulted in the list of California’s state representatives. She clicked through a couple of links and discovered Rep. Joe Royce’s (R) district was in the city, his photograph with a greasy, practiced politician-grin, and that he was coming up for re-election. 

She continued her way back through the building, nose buried in her phone to read about the man whose name she’d seen every so often on yard signs and billboards (never paying much attention since she didn’t live in his district) and discovered that his newest platform seemed to be taking a “tough stance on crime.”

 _Could be nothing,_ the voice in her head kept repeating.

The feeling in her gut, however, took a different stance. 

And it hadn’t steered her wrong, yet.

*

It took ages to get ahold of Maze, which set Lucifer’s teeth on edge. Wasn’t she supposed to know where he was and who he was with at all times? All threats to his person? She should have known Jimmy was anywhere in the vicinity of Lux, let alone inside the damn building.

Eventually she showed up, waltzing into his apartment as she always had. Usually he wouldn’t mind her holier-than-thou attitude, but right now it eroded on his patience.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

“Nice to see you too,” she replied easily, moving behind the bar. “I’ve been busy. Your people don’t manage themselves.”

He waited until she came around and handed him a glass. “Mr. The Carpenter paid me a little visit this morning. You remember Jimmy? Bears a strong resemblance to Freddy Kruger, thanks to you?”

She shifted into a mode he had rarely ever seen on her: concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He was taken aback by her reaction. He expected bloodlust. Or groveling. He wouldn’t say no to some serious groveling right now. In his surprise, he allowed her to direct him to sit at the piano. “We’re to commit a little arson in his favor,” he explained. “Preferably sooner rather than later, which you would know, if you had bothered to pick up the bloody phone.”

She took his scolding. “Okay. We set fire to…?”

“A boat. A body, in a boat.”

“And, what. That’s it? It’s over? I left him alive for you, Lucifer.” He didn’t understand. “Explain,” she demanded.

“Explain what?” he asked, confused. “You’re the one who needs to explain, Mazikeen. How did he even get up here in the first place, hmm? Bloody wings? He shouldn’t have been able to cross the damn block without you knowing about it!”

“I told you. I was busy.” She tongued the inside of her teeth. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I’ve been sending off your lower level movers and security when they’re the ones who know what’s happening on the streets. Without them, you’re blind out there. Don’t you see, Lucifer? You need them. You need this. You’re becoming weak. Vulnerable.”

He blinked. She stood firm, assured, goading. His heart fell. Not her.

_Anyone but her._

“You did this. You let him in.”

Her confidence waned. She went for broke. “I told you I would protect you. The most dangerous threat to you right now is yourself.”

He rose, forcing her to step back. “You betrayed me, Maze,” he said, scarcely believing the words, yet eerily calm.

“Lucifer -”

“No.” He held up a finger. “You and me? We’re done.” 

She began to crack.

He held firm. “Get out.”

She tilted her chin up and turned on her heel, refusing to look back. The elevator doors slid shut behind her, feeling far too similar to a chapter ending. He stood rooted in place and unthinkingly reached for the glass she’d poured for him. He looked down into the swirling liquid and decided that today sounded as good as any other to begin working through the many bottles he had on his wall.

*

Chloe finally dragged herself home. She’d caught a new case after her meeting with Herrera and so far it had her traveling halfway across the city to follow down leads that led to little more than she already knew. There was something she was just not quite getting at. She needed a second pair of eyes, but refused to admit it. To do so felt like defeat, though she knew it shouldn’t. But she had no one to bounce ideas off of, no one to talk things through with, no one to think of other solutions. 

As usual. All she had was herself.

She walked in the door to find Dan stretched out on the couch, feet up on the coffee table like she had seen him do a hundred times before. He looked up when she came in and quickly shut off the TV, cutting off the low, familiar voices of football announcers. 

She had the strangest feeling of deja vu, except the roles were reversed. How often had she waited up for him, only to receive a text well into the night that something else came up and he wouldn’t be making it home? How often had she seen him come through the door, bone tired, looking at her for all the world, only to squash down the feeling that she was being needy and unrealistic to expect him to make the same effort she did to be home? He wasn’t babysitting Trixie. A father can’t babysit his own child. Was this him making a belated effort? She hadn't intended for their separation to result in that. It wasn't a warning shot. It was her finally saying enough.

“Hey,” he said softly, as she came in and dropped her stuff on the table. Why did he have to try? It could only serve to reopen a tentatively-closed wound. He got up; she busied herself. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” she said, rolling the ache from her shoulders. “What’s up?”

He hesitantly crossed the distance between them. “I was thinking about Palmetto. About the list you showed me. He…” he trailed off. “I knew Malcolm was dirty. I’d known for a while.”

Any weariness she felt was swiftly replaced, bit by bit, until anger simmered low in her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? Protect me from what?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice low as to not wake Trixie. 

He stuck his hands on his hips, nodding to himself. She knew the look well. “What you said. What you saw. Your theory about a third shooter.” He stopped. 

“Tell me.”

“You were right. Everything you said about Palmetto was true.”

The world suddenly felt wrong, somehow. Like she was looking into a mirrored version, flipped over and unfamiliar. “How do you know that?”

“Because I shot him,” he said quickly, as though getting words out faster made them hurt less. “I was there. I knew he was going to go make a deal, I didn’t know with who, so I followed him. I saw him make you. I saw him reach for his weapon and I acted.”

It would have been easier if he’d just hit her. His words punched a hole straight through her gut. “You lied to me?”

“I had to, Chloe. When I saw you had that list, when you looked at me like that -”

“You thought you were on it,” she finished. “You let them think I was crazy. You let me think I was crazy. _Jesus._ ” She wrapped her hands in her hair and took a step back. He reached out to comfort her. “Don’t you _dare_ fucking touch me,” she warned him. “I am this close to punching you in the face.”

“I’d deserve it,” he answered morosely.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare act like a fucking victim, here, Dan! You shot a man in cold blood!”

“I did it to protect you.”

“I am not yours to protect!”

He frowned and glanced at Trixie’s door - the same old look, the same old end of argument. “You were,” he reminded her sternly. “If I had let you prove -”

“ _Let me,_ ” she repeated, incredulous.

He backtracked. “If you had proved there was a third shooter, then what? I would have gone to jail, Chlo. You want Trixie to grow up without a father?”

“She already has,” Chloe snapped. “Every night you were out doing God knows what and blaming it on the job, you told her she was less important than it was. And you knew that was the one thing, Dan, the one thing I couldn’t -” He reached out again. She backed away. “If you would have told me, we could have worked together. We could have figured this out _together._ ”

He shook his head. “That’s a fantasy and you know it. You would have never been able to accept what I had to do.”

“It never had to come to that,” she argued desperately. She took in a shaky breath. “I don’t even know you.”

He accepted it. Quietly, he backed away. She shut her eyes as he closed the door behind him.

 

She couldn’t sleep. God, she wanted to sleep. At least she knew better than to do the dance of getting ready for bed and turning over and over again, same as the conversation in her mind. 

So, she worked. She spread out the photographs from her latest crime scene and the info she’d so far managed to collect on the hardwood floor, and knelt over them, taking notes and making possible connections in her mind. At least her runaway train of a mind could be funneled into something productive. 

The clocked slowly pushed on toward midnight. It changed nothing for Chloe; night was night, and the only indication of time passing was her collection of scribbles and ache in her knees. She rested back, trying to ease the strain.

A crash on the porch had her instantly upright. She listened carefully. A familiar accent muddled out a few choice words, followed by an uneven shuffle.

Great. Just what she needed right now. 

She double checked it was Lucifer through the window and opened the door before he could bang on it. “Shh,” she shushed, before he could speak, and held the door open only enough to speak with him. “What are you doing.”

He hopped on one leg - how he managed she didn’t know, with the stink of alcohol on his breath - and pointed accusingly at his lifted foot. “Stubbed my toe.” He pushed forward, bumping into the door and looking confused when it didn’t open. “May I com’in?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, pushing it back against him. He finally got the hint and retreated. “You’re drunk.”

He blinked slow, one eye at a time. “I certainly hope so.”

She glanced around. “How did you even get here?” The street was eerily quiet, not even a trash bin out of place.

He brightened, throwing his arms out wide. “I took an Uber! I take _Ubers_ now. Brilliant.” The movement caused him to nearly stumble off the porch, but he managed to catch himself on the beam at the last second. 

She had to laugh at that. “Lucifer. Go home.”

He pouted. At one point he must have been decent, but now his navy blue shirt was all but untucked beneath his matching jacket, an extra button undone at the top, and his hair mussed, as though he couldn’t stop running his hands through it. “But I don’t want to,” he whined, surprisingly articulate despite the slow cadence. “Wanted to - I had a question.”

She waited, which is about as far as she was willing to indulge him.

He looked confused, then whatever short-term memory he was relying on short circuited. He stumbled forward and pushed again on the door, then made a small sound of protest.

“Lucifer,” she said sternly. He narrowed his eyes at her, concentrating. “No.”

He ran a hand through his hair and quickly turned away to all but fall down the front steps. He collapsed heavily onto them and groaned, sticking his head between his knees. His hands started smacking at his head, and he mumbled to himself.

She shut the door and, for good measure, locked it. Whatever Lucifer was doing, he could very well do it outside. Especially if he was going to get sick, which it sounded like. She went to grab herself a glass of water and took her time drinking it, giving him enough time to leave. After about ten minutes, she refilled it, then looked outside.

He was in the same spot, though his hands had stilled.

She sighed, grabbed a blanket off the couch, and went outside. He perked up and accepted the glass she handed over, then watched as she shook out the blanket. She wrapped it around her shoulders and took the seat beside him. His dark eyes were black and fathomless in the moonlight, exhaustion and drunkenness rimming them in red. “Drink,” she urged, glancing at the water. “And tell me your question.” 

She looked up to find the moon to give him time.

He looked at her like she held its light, instead. Finally, he drained the glass and set it aside, then tugged the flask out, shaking it in offering. She took it.

“How’d you do it?” he asked. 

She took a drink. The straight whiskey burned her throat. She didn't understand how he could just drink it like that. She gave it back. “Do what?”

“Live, like this,” he said, flinging a hand outward, all encompassing. “How do you - how - when everyday, every day there’s some new threat, some gunman, some killer, out there.” He rubbed a hand into his eye. “How do you live unafraid?”

She studied his profile. “I don’t,” she said, honestly. It was easier in the quiet of an empty night. Some truths required the cover of darkness to be revealed, even when they were always there, hidden like stars in the day. The cool air helped to clear and ease her mind. “Lucifer,” she said, making him look at her. “I’m terrified. All the time. I’m scared of how it can all just end. What I do - this job - I know I put myself in danger. But I also know that I'm helping to make other people safer, so they aren't afraid to go out and live their lives. Go to work, or school, or church, or the park, or anywhere. So, maybe, on some cosmic level, every time I decide not to let fear control my actions, it can help balance things out. In the end I know it’s not up to me. All I can do is try.”

“But if it was?” he asked, enunciating carefully to control the slur. “If you could control it - people - engineer events -”

She touched his forearm. “I know that you and I come from two very different worlds, and our experiences are probably completely different, but. Honestly. No. No matter what you do, you can’t. Not really. I've seen people make themselves crazy trying. I don’t believe in fate, or bad luck -”

“Or the Devil?” 

She smiled. “Or that.” It faded. “Do you? Really?”

He looked down at her shoulder. The pale light slipped half his features into darkness. Slowly, he pushed aside the blanket until it exposed her shirt, then stopped, fingertips hovering over the fabric. “Sometimes.”

The ghost of his touch lingered. She left the blanket as it was. “Did you really come all this way to ask me that?”

He took in a deep breath and looked toward the sky. “Yes. That's bad, isn't it? I wanted to see you. Had to. Not just for a question. For you. I want to trust you,” he said, slowly. “With you I don't have to be… him. _The Devil._ You let me be… vulnerable.” 

She followed his eyeline to nowhere. Being so close to the beach meant the ambient light from the city got mostly swallowed by the darkness, but still too bright to see the stars.

“Maybe that’s okay,” she said. “If it helps, I think you make me vulnerable, too.”

The line of his shoulders sagged; she hadn’t realized how much tension he had been holding there. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, quiet. The distant din of traffic coupled with the unceasing crash of waves in a soothing push and pull of sound. Lucifer's presence, warm and solid beside her, steadied her. Unlike their other meetings, she didn't feel that he was ready to bolt at any moment. He wanted to stay. She wanted him to stay.

Was he as alone as she was?

She pulled the blanket tighter and dared to brush up against him. He made no effort to move away. If anything, he shifted closer.

She laid her head against his shoulder.

Neither spoke for a long time, after that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I have some good news! As I am getting closer to finishing than anticipated, starting now I will be posting updates every Friday AND Tuesday until it's done! This fic will definitely be 16 chapters, and I am considering making it part 1 of a story that will come later, as I need a break - been working steadily on this one since early October!  
> Be sure to look out for the new updates, and I hope it continues to entertain :)

Lucifer was aware, on some level, that this was not his bed, that this was not in his penthouse, and that the sounds of morning movements around him were not those of a lover stirring. So his mind rushed in, not unlike a flood, to fill in the gaps with an explanation. 

The hangover may have skewed things, a little.

He was young again. Fifteen, perhaps: an age of desiring independence without knowing what it truly entailed. He was certain more time had passed, but in a half-dream haze such things mattered little; he had been that way once, so he was that way again. He had fallen asleep on the couch, too lazy to drag himself up the stairs to bed. No - it wasn’t laziness. _Exhaustion._ That sounded right. The aches and stiffness could attest to that. There was that vague unease within which claimed if he were well enough to sleep like a proper man then surely nothing was wrong, and there were so many things that were wrong.

He pushed him face deeper into the pillow at the sound of small, clamoring footsteps, anticipating the inevitable before it came: a vaulting over the couch right onto his exposed backside, shoving him deeper into cushions with a pointed _oof_ , the tinkling laugh of a girl, her stage whisper of “are you awake?”

“Rae,” he grumbled, face smushed into the pillow. “Rae, get _off_ -” 

The girl shoved a leg aside to make a place for herself, turning him nearly halfway over. She laughed again. “ _Trixie._ My name is Trixie, remember?” Tiny, surprisingly strong hands pushed at his shoulders, her weight bearing down as she steadied herself to lean over. “Wake up,” she whispered, near his ear. “You’re dreaming,” she sing-songed. 

How were children so awake in the morning? Oh, that’s right. They still believed in the promise of the day. Lucifer swallowed back the horrific taste in his mouth and settled back in for at least another six months of sleep, if how he was feeling was anything to go by. 

Rae wasn’t having it. “Lucifer,” she whispered in his ear. “Lucifer.”

He groaned. “Go away.”

“Mom’s gonna make breakfast,” she sang, enticing. _Mom?_ Lucifer’s mind repeated. _Mum,_ she meant, surely. “She promised -”

“Trixie Espinoza!” another voice whispered, from across the room. The girl laughed and scrambled off, prompting a series of nonsense mumbles from him. The voices lowered.

Lucifer’s conscious mind then slammed forward so hard inside his skull it was not unlike awakening to a concussion. “Ow.”

“Lucifer?” Chloe asked. “You alive?”

He forced a hand up over the edge of the couch and gave a thumbs up, making her laugh.

The sound made him smile. Oh, god. Smiling hurt.

“Great. You’ve got thirty minutes before we’re all out the door, and I am sure as hell not serving you breakfast in bed. Coffee if you want it.”

The promise of coffee had him push himself upright. Chloe stood in the kitchen, dressed and ready for the day, while her child, still clad in pink pajamas, sat expectantly on the other side of the counter. She held in a laugh, but soon it was bubbling out of her, and then Trixie joined in, and it occurred to him far too late that they were laughing at him.

“What?” he asked.

She made an upward motion by her face. “Oh my God, Lucifer. Your hair,” unable to stop giggling. 

He patted it down. Half stuck straight up from where he had been laying, betrayed by smoothing product. “Et tu, Brute?” he said, horrified at the image he must be making and desperately trying to remedy it. 

“He’s silly, mommy,” Trixie said, leaning closer conspiratorially. 

Chloe watched him carefully. “Yes, he is, monkey. Very silly.”

As Lucifer managed to get himself to the bathroom to make himself decent, memories of last night came trickling back. He had told her about Maze - possibly too much - and her objection to his “retirement.” He could blame the alcohol for loosening his tongue, but he knew that wasn’t all of it. Charlotte would say he had always told people what they wanted to hear. It had become a game to him, a challenge, to always tell the truth while hiding what was necessary, to push the limits on how much he could get away with while still being honest. But Chloe, last night - she had not asked for the truth. She simply listened.

Then relayed her own.

He rinsed out his mouth with mouthwash and squinted, trying to remember what she had said. She had a fight with her ex, though he wasn’t an ex; her husband, but not quite a husband? It was all very muddled, apparently, though Lucifer had never really understood the vows of marriage in the first place. There had been a shooting, yes, the Palmetto she had mentioned before. A deal gone wrong - those he was familiar with - two men dead, a third, the cop, put in a coma. 

He spit. That was it. He remembered, clearly, the way the moon caught a tear running gently down her cheek, like a liquid droplet of light. Dan had killed a man. Or, attempted to. Apparently that was why the Malcolm Graham he had asked to look the other way on occasion hadn’t been in play of late. He wasn’t quite dead, and if he woke up his story could ruin their lives even more than it had been already. 

Lucifer splashed his face with cold water. It wasn’t that Dan had tried to kill someone, though judging by her line of work the detective obviously frowned upon it. It was that he had lied to her. Gaslighted her. And ruined her reputation because of it.

Obviously something would have to be done.

 

He expected breakfast to be awkward. But, it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all. Chloe smacked his hand with the spatula when he tried to grab the first egg sandwich thing she plated before handing it over to Trixie. She made another for him and he watched the whole process, then playfully pushed her aside to try and make hers the same way he’d seen. He flipped it over in the air with practiced precision, delighting the child. Chloe stayed close, hovering until he shooed her off, and she sat beside her daughter to eat while he remained standing. He’d worked through worse hangovers, and her buttery concoction and strong coffee helped more than his morning top-off ever did. 

“Go get dressed, monkey,” Chloe said. Trixie hopped to it.

“Why do you call her that?” Lucifer asked, when she was out of range. “Small children are sort of ape-like, I suppose. Grabby hands.”

“It’s what my dad used to call me,” she explained. “Guess it just stuck. Didn’t you have something like that? Don’t tell me your parents called you _Lucifer_ all the time.”

“What else would they call me?”

She shrugged. “Everybody’s family’s different. My mom’s mom still calls her ‘goose’ sometimes. Dan’s mom calls him ‘pollito’.’”

“Ah. Afraid not.” He finished eating and wiped his hands, suddenly awkward in the comfortable silence. 

She must have sensed it, for she pushed forward. “Hey, do you know anything about Joe Royce? Herrera’s got him marked down for something happening on the 26th. Could just be a lunch date, but I don’t see why a state representative and a police lieutenant should be chummy, unless he was looking to move up.”

It sounded promising. He'd had plenty of dealings with men like that before. They were all snakes. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks.” She took a look at her phone, then pulled it from the charger. “Shit. Trixie! Let’s go!”

Lucifer took it as his cue as well, and soon she was hustling them all out the door in a morning rush he hadn’t experienced since leaving home. He lingered at the bottom of the steps.

“You good?” she asked, as Trixie got in her car. “I could give you a ride, but I’ve got to get Trixie to school, first.”

He took in a deep breath of ocean air. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

She hesitated, then decided against whatever it was and took off. Lucifer watched her car go down the street, then walked to the beach. The sun hadn’t had a chance yet to heat up the day, and the cold breeze felt good on his skin. 

For the first time in a long time, morning felt like it brought a new day.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Mary,” he greeted warmly, not needing to introduce himself. “Tell me, are you still moonlighting as a certain angel?” He listened. “Excellent. There’s someone I need you to take care of for me. Terrible case. Been in a coma for months, I understand. No reason to keep his family in suspense…”

*

Days later, Chloe walked into the precinct, certain she had a “hate me” sign taped to her face, if the looks were anything to go by. Dan dared to grip her elbow to pull her aside. 

“I don’t think you should be here today,” he told her.

She waited for an explanation.

“Malcolm died. After months in stable condition, he just… kicked it. And since you were able to push through with the case, his family’s not going to get his pension fund.”

“And that’s _my_ fault,” she said, eyeing a few officers who kept shooting her looks.

Dan looked down. _Coward,_ she thought, reactionary. “Today it is.”

She bit the inside of her lip and shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. Tell Pierce I’m following up on something, if he bothers to ask.” 

She bumped into his shoulder as she stormed off, which hurt, but the pain felt like nothing compared to what was blooming in her heart. Not one - _not one_ \- of her fellow officers could stick up for her? Could admit she did the right thing? Were they all so concerned with coming across as a unit that they couldn’t purge a bad cop from their own ranks?

Lucifer’s list was starting to make sense. Of course there were so many willing to look the other way. They all stuck together. Brothers in blue. Them against the whole world. 

She felt eyes watch her all the way up the stairs, burning. They should be ashamed of themselves.

 

She marched outside, trying to keep a lid on her boiling anger. _Constructive_ outlet, she reminded herself. She needed something to take away the energy. 

She could certainly think of _one_ thing…

 _No._ Calling up a man she’d never slept with for a booty call in the middle of the day would be the very _opposite_ of constructive.

Yet she sat in her car, turning the phone over in her hands, on the verge of a very bad decision.

It was made for her when her passenger door opened and Maze slipped inside with a grin as sharp as knife.

“What the _fuck_ , Maze,” Chloe said, unable to stop herself. 

“Someone’s testy today,” she said. She seemed to be enjoying it.

“Yeah. What are you doing. I thought you and Lucifer had a falling out.”

Maze snorted. “If you haven’t noticed by now, Lucifer is sort of a drama queen. He’ll get over it. I’m here for you, actually. Heard about poor Malcolm.”

Chloe couldn’t believe it. “How?”

Maze shrugged. “I overheard you and Lucifer the other day.”

Chloe’s mouth dropped open. “You were at my house?”

“Yeah. I _did_ come over to kill you, but then I saw Lucifer come over, and heard his sad whining or whatever, and felt… bad. I guess.”

_“You came over to kill me?”_

“Yeah, but I don’t want to _now._ Anyway. I figured you’d want to go celebrate.”

Chloe rested her forehead against the steering wheel, shaking it in disbelief. “ _Celebrate._ I don’t want to _celebrate_ a man’s death, Maze.” She perked up. “I could really go for shooting you, though.”

To her surprise, Maze looked pleased as punch. “Great. I know just the place.”

 

And that’s how they ended up at an indoor firing range, going through boxes of bullets like it was going out of style, and Chloe had to admit - it did make her feel better.

Maze retrieved yet another gun from her mysterious and probably hella illegal stockpile, then motioned for her to follow. She kept the sniper rifle pointed safely down as she walked, but Chloe still balked at the size of it. Maze got it set up on the ground, laying flat on her stomach, and smacked Chloe’s boot to get her to follow suit.

“M2010 ESR,” she explained, as though the terms meant anything to Chloe. “Developed for the deserts and mountains of Afghanistan, burning hot one minute then freezing cold the next but always somehow just like Hell. 1200 meter range.”

“Impressive?” Chloe guessed, watching as she loaded it.

Maze shrugged. “It’s alright. But it’s fun.” She lowered herself to the sight and made an adjustment. Chloe put back on her ear protection. Maze let five rounds hit their target, then reloaded and scooted out of the way.

“Um, no,” Chloe protested, admittedly weakly. All Maze had to do was tip her head enticingly toward the target, and Chloe gave in. They switched spots and Maze pointed out what she needed to do and look out for.

The jolt of the first kickback made her shoulder ache, but the surprise and sheer power of it made her bark out a laugh. Maze screwed up her mouth, trying not to smile.

“Now you’re getting it,” she said, proudly.

Chloe wasn’t totally sure _what_ it was she was supposed to be getting, but she could admit: in that moment, Maze felt like a friend.

And that was all she really needed.

 

Later, when Maze invited her to Lux that evening, Chloe agreed. She called up Ella, who was happy to join, and then Dan, who was more than willing to take Trixie and knew better than to ask why.

Chloe felt a shift of understanding regarding Lucifer and Maze. Their camaraderie. Lucifer hadn't called it a friendship, not exactly. There was a _pull_ there, she could admit, an orbiting going on between the two of them that was probably unhealthy, but who was she to judge? Both had a darkness in them, like they had swallowed the night and held the light of the stars captive in their chest to burn.

It must hurt.

She entered Lux alone and lingered at the top of the stairs, overseeing the club. It felt right to be above such a place. From the small stage a woman dressed in a red number sang something blue into the old-fashioned microphone, a deep bass line accompanying. Chloe could truly picture what Lucifer had told her about the club, how it had been a haven in the twenties for the decadent, eager to throw off the shackles of rigid society and allow themselves a little post-war fun.

She stuck to black, herself. Simple and clean, a quintessential L.B.D. that clung like a lover in all the right places, long sleeved but baring her shoulders. She decided not to care about the scar, to wear it plainly as a badge of honor.

She swayed a little to the music. Maze was behind the bar, keeping mostly to herself, though Chloe kept seeing her look in a certain direction. Ella was chatting up a handsome man, bubbling and laughing and probably making a charming fool of herself.

 _Are you the fishy wine that will give me a headache in the morning,_ the woman sang, _Or just a dark blue land mine that'll explode without a decent warning?_

Then, she spotted him. 

_Give me all your true hate and I’ll translate it in our bed, into never seen passion, never seen passion..._

Lucifer sat in a half-moon booth, alone save for the pretty young thing he was leaning into. The woman spoke into his ear, her fingers trailing down the line of his lapel. A spark of jealousy flared in Chloe, but it fizzled out when she realized Lucifer wasn’t paying her any particular attention. He listened, mostly, and when he spoke to her his eyes were firmly elsewhere.

_this is why I am so mad_

_about you_

And, he hadn’t seen her, yet. 

There was excitement in that, in seeing without being seen. She made her way down the stairs and through the crowd, meeting Maze’s eyes. She shook up a drink before pouring it out, the silver of the shaker matching the gleam in her eyes. 

Chloe approached the booth, catching Lucifer’s wandering attention. Whatever had been occupying his thoughts seemed to suddenly cease. It took an extra second for his companion to stop taking. 

“Is this her?” she asked, drawing closer. 

Chloe slid into the seat beside him. 

“Yes,” he said, unable to keep his eyes off her. 

To her surprise, the other woman smiled. _“The detective,”_ she cooed, shaking her shoulders a little in excitement. 

Lucifer’s gaze dipped to her legs as she crossed them beneath the table. “Delilah was just about to tell me her rendezvous with Herrera.”

Chloe took a second look at the other woman. “You work for Lucifer?”

“Appearances are everything,” Lucifer gently reminded. 

“And I wouldn’t call it a _rendezvous,_ or whatever,” Delilah injected. “He made me in nothing flat. With all his surveillance he’s probably seen me coming and going. I’m sorry, Lucifer.”

“It’s alright, darling,” he said, sparking another flare of jealousy. “It was foolish of me to think he wouldn’t have. Did you discover anything salient, regardless?”

She reached beside her for a clutch. Chloe didn’t miss that Lucifer took that as an opportunity to remove his arm from around her. She pulled out a card and handed it over. Lucifer read it, his jaw clenching, before holding it up for Chloe to take.

“A woman’s shelter?” Chloe asked, handing it back.

“An insult,” Lucifer clarified. “This particular one is for victims of human trafficking.”

Delilah looked uncomfortable. “I… visited. I was curious,” she explained, at Lucifer’s burning gaze. “Obviously I know I’m not one of them,” she reassured, placing a hand on his knee. She removed it just as quickly. “What I do for you… I would do it anyway, you just keep me better dressed.”

Chloe was starting to put two-and-two together. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Delilah sighed. “But it got me thinking, you know, and I just - I think - with you wanting out of the business and all, that maybe I should be looking to other avenues. That’s all.”

Chloe relaxed. “What are you interested in?” she asked, feeling strangely like she and Lucifer were the girl’s parents. It wasn’t unpleasant.

Delilah looked down, sheepish. “I like to sing. I’ve been told I’m pretty good.”

Both women waited for Lucifer to respond. He took a moment. “I think it’s been far too long since I’ve played,” he began, surprisingly them both. “Put together a list of songs I can accompany you on the piano, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Delilah threw her arms around Lucifer’s neck, hugging him tightly - he was too shocked to respond - then scooted out of the booth with a beaming smile. “You won’t regret it,” she assured him, before disappearing into the crowd. Chloe laughed, watching her catch up with Maze at the bar.

When she turned back to Lucifer, he had eyes only for her. With Delilah gone, all the elation drained away into something more serious. “You look... beautiful.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she teased.

“Far from,” he reassured. “You are simply… unexpected. In so many ways.” He shifted closer, placing an arm on the back of the booth around her. With the angle, her crossed legs slid easily between his knees. His voice lowered into a smooth, intoxicating cadence. “What brings you here tonight?”

Chloe really didn't want to think about it. “I was angry,” she said, flippantly.

“At me?”

“No.” She could almost smile at his worry. “At bad people pretending to be good people.”

“Ah.” He pulled away slightly. “So at people _like_ me.”

She leaned closer. “No,” she said softly. “I think you’re actually the opposite. Appearances, right?” He smiled, a little. “I think I’m beginning to get it. This whole… Devil business.”

Beneath the table, he placed his hand gently on her leg, fingers alighting just beneath her hem. His thumb began small, teasing ministrations. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. His gaze lingered over her curves, rising slowly to meet her own. “See, I think you _like_ helping people. But you were smart. You didn’t want people to take advantage of you. Hence this persona. Immortal. Invulnerable. A dealer of _just deserts._ ”

His breathing quickened. His hand eased up her leg, maddeningly slow. “Where did you come from?” he asked, under his breath.

She enjoyed the flush in his cheek and knew it matched her own. He watched her expression carefully as he reached the lace edge of her panties.

Her lips parted in response, but she pressed on. “I know you were wronged, and a lot of this is in response to that." The anger that she had managed to hold at bay all day began pushing upward. “And, someday," she continued, letting it surge through an outlet of protectiveness, "I’d really like to have a conversation with that man.”

His fingers dipped below the lace, then splayed over the curve of her ass. “Chloe,” he breathed.

Suddenly he gripped tight and pulled her close. She gasped at the neediness and closed her eyes. Their foreheads touched, his breath hot against her parted lips. 

They breathed together, tasting one another in the air, intense and intimate.

He moved to speak in her ear. “We never discussed the other night.”

Embarrassment threatened to raise its ugly head. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” he said, fingers digging in possessively. “Because I really must hear you make those sounds again.”

A small noise escaped from the back of her throat, making him exhale heavily against her skin. She breathed in his cologne, surprised to recognize it, subtle unless she was this close. It felt like a secret, this scent just beneath his ear, something only for her to know, the same as he left on her couch after sleeping there. Personal. _His,_ but also somehow _hers._

He moved the hair off her shoulder and brushed his lips on her neck, his stubble ghosting over the sensitive skin, sending shivers all down her arm. Her hands found themselves slipping beneath his open suit jacket, careful of his side. The muscles beneath his dress shirt jumped at her touch.

“What you did to me,” he continued, fingers trailing down her long locks, "that evening. And others to come. You have no idea."

She huffed out a small laugh. “I can guess.”

She felt him smile before he pressed a chaste kiss to her neck, as though he couldn’t help himself. She leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed at the lightest hint of pressure. “I don’t remember the last time I took myself in hand. But I knew if I couldn’t have you, nothing else would satisfy.”

It was so tender, the way he said it, so unexpected, that she placed a hand on his cheek. He pulled back only enough to see her properly, eyes black with want. Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip. 

“Tell me what I must do to have you in my bed.”

She hadn’t touched one drop, yet Chloe could swear she was drunk. Drunk on _him,_ on whatever this was hanging between them, heavy and ripe as forbidden fruit. Her hand slid to the nape of his neck, then thread through his hair. God, she _wanted._ She wanted him, _this,_ whatever this was, wherever it led: she could no longer deny it.

And yet, a nagging gristle of doubt stuck in her throat. Her heart _begged_ for reprieve, feeling lately as though she'd been running it through a blender. She could love. That was terribly, frighteningly certain. She could love _so_ easily. Could love _him_ , despite everything else. He did not seem like an easy man to love.

And her heart couldn't take another blow.

She bit her lip and looked at his, feeling foolish and greedy, swimming in the feel of him around her, beneath her hands. “Promise me something,” she asked.

“Anything. Anything you desire.”

She hated the heat prickling behind her eyes, but she couldn't make it stop. A small line creased between his brow. She forced herself to say the words. They came out smaller than she liked. “Promise you won’t hurt me.”

 _There it is._ The shift, the subtle pulling away, the infinitesimal hesitation. He shut his eyes for a beat too long. 

She ruined it. 

Chloe Jane Decker, always asking the impossible of people: basic human decency.

Unable to think of anything else to say, she nodded to herself, then slipped from the booth. Lucifer opened his mouth as she left, but only a breathy _detective_ came out. Ella caught her on the way, but soon released her, able to read the look plainly on her face.

_A big mistake,_ she told herself. _He stopped me from making a big mistake._


	11. Chapter 11

And to think: Dan’s day had started out so pleasantly. 

He got enough sleep, woke up feeling good, had enough time to make an actual breakfast - a rarity since his new-found obsessive desire to go to the gym (usually relying on protein bars and shakes instead) - and traffic was pretty light on the way to the precinct. On his desk he found an actual swear-to-God muffin basket, complete with note from a mother of one of the victims whose case he recently closed, and whose contents he shared with a couple of other detectives. 

He set a lemon muffin aside for Chloe, unsure when she’d be in. He didn’t like being out of the loop when it came to her, but he would give her the space to figure it out. Just the same as he had been for the last several months. 

Whether he liked it or not.

He set that particular emotion aside, and pressed on with the day. 

Around noon he got a text message from a number he didn’t recognize. He slowly stood while reading it, growing excited. He’d been at a standstill with a case he caught a while back - long ago enough now to admit it had gone cold - but whoever this was gave the vic’s name and an address that they wanted to talk at to discuss more information. Dud or not, it was a lead, and one worth following up on. He threw on his jacket and headed out.

The industrial blocks were a hotly contested area between the bloods and crips, a kind of no-man’s land that had seen its fair share of bloodshed. More than half the factories stood empty, buffered on all sides by disused or underutilized warehouses. Sunshine glittered off smashed windows while bright yellow and blue graffiti lined wide, empty streets. He pulled up to a curb and parked. For good measure, he stuck his police parking permit on the dash, hoping it would dissuade any wandering, opportunistic eye. Not that there was any need, he realized as he exited the car. There was no one on the street. All was quiet.

Very quiet.

He double checked the address on the building and flicked the strap off his guns holster for faster access, then pushed open the steel door leading inside and called out. His voice echoed in the cooler, open space, but no response followed.

Then, there was a sharp pain on the back of his head, and nothing at all.

He awoke slowly, refusing to open his eyes until his brain stopped wobbling around like warm jelly inside the surprisingly constricting cavity that was his skull. He took in a breath and discovered his shoulders pulling unnaturally backward, then mentally followed the line down to his hands to find them tied - handcuffed - behind a column. A few vertebrae at his lower back were pressing painfully against cold steel, so he forced himself further upright to relieve the pressure. He didn’t seem to be bleeding, which was good, if there was anything currently to be positive about.

He finally opened his eyes, only to find himself staring at a sliver of sunlight on the dirty warehouse floor. He continued his line of sight up to a single, plain, aluminium chair, occupied by a pair of long, well dressed legs crossed at the knee. A pair of gloved hands - black, leather - were folded over one another, holding his gun, which was thankfully pointed at the floor.

Further up, and Dan looked into the face of the very last man he wanted to see.

He moaned unwittingly, dropping his head to his chest in disbelief. “What the hell, man,” he groaned. “Why.”

Lucifer didn’t answer. 

Dan looked up; the man’s expression hadn't changed from one of haughty disdain. He looked down at Dan, mouth tight, holding himself preternaturally still. The light from the windows high above darkened his countenance, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from seeing Lucifer’s nostrils flare in sudden anger. 

Dan _may_ have underestimated the gravity of his current situation.

“And Maria Constantioza? Do you actually have info on her or was that just a way to get me here?”

“Does it matter?” Lucifer asked, clipped and cold.

Dan shrugged, then regretted the movement. “Depends on if you’re planning on killing me, I guess.”

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, considering. “I do, actually.”

Dan looked at the gun. The safety was off, but Lucifer was smart enough to keep his finger off the trigger. He forced himself to relax, settling in and letting the back of his head fall gingerly against the column. “So what’s this? Some kind of creepy foreplay?”

The corner of Lucifer’s mouth lifted. If Dan was good at anything, it was lightening the mood by making an ass of himself. 

“No,” Lucifer said. “I’m usually a much more considerate lover. I don’t even know your safeword.”

Dan huffed a laugh. What a world, man. “Never needed one.”

“Shame. I’m beginning to see why the detective discarded you.”

Ah. So _that’s_ what this was really about. Dan felt his pulse spike, but he refused to to bite at Lucifer’s obvious bait. “You really wanna talk about my love life?” he asked, testing the handcuffs. They dug into the delicate skin of his wrist, too tight.

Lucifer’s expression twitched. His grip on the weapon tightened as he repressed whatever was threatening to surface. “I wanted to beat your organs into a bloody pulp.”

Dan stopped fussing. “But?” he asked, hopeful.

Lucifer’s chest expanded as he took in a deep breath, but otherwise he remained still as a statue. “I’m considering other options.” His gaze shifted elsewhere. “I believe the detective would find it… distasteful, if I attempted to murder you. You are the father of her child, after all, though that hardly means anything more than she determined your genetic material to be worth something.” He looked over him briefly. “Can’t see why, myself.”

Dan offered a smile. “Maybe you don’t know me well enough.”

Lucifer shook his head. “I really have no intention of rectifying that, I assure you.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I do, however, wish to know something.”

Dan jangled the handcuff chain. “You could ask me without these, you know.”

“But there’s no fun in that.”

And this was the guy Chloe insisted on defending. Perfect.

Lucifer shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, letting the gun dangle as though forgotten. Dan watched it carefully. 

“You hurt her,” he stated matter-of-factly. “A lot.”

Dan lowered his eyes. “I know.”

“Why?”

“Not like I planned it,” he responded pointedly. He sighed. Now would be as good a time as any to be honest. “I just - I thought she was getting in over her head, and I wanted to protect her. Protect her from the world I was already sucked into. I knew it was fucking up our relationship and it seemed like every time I tried to fix it I just made it worse.”

Lucifer’s dark eyes betrayed nothing. “She blamed herself.”

Dan couldn’t deny it. “I know. I was - I was selfish,” he admitted, disliking the taste of the words in his mouth. “I thought I had a handle on things. I thought I could be the good guy. That I could get myself in with the bad guys and still keep my hands clean. Instead I ended up shooting another cop in cold blood and lying to the woman I loved about it.”

Lucifer rested back, silent. As much as Dan hated to admit it, he liked it better when the guy was talking. At least then he could suss out what he was thinking. His silence was unreadable. Probably had a lot of practice.

Getting the words out felt good. He probably should have done it a lot sooner, and not required being chained down to do it.

“So what do you do now?” Lucifer asked quietly. “Apologize?”

Dan considered it. “I think all I can do is move forward. No matter what, Chloe is always going to be in my life. I love her. That’s never going to change. But, honestly. I don’t really think there’s any going back to what we had.” _I hate myself too much for it,_ he neglected to add. “It would just be a lie.”

Lucifer made a disgusted noise. Dan’s head snapped up at it. He stood and buttoned his suit, gun still in hand. “Honestly. It would have been so much more satisfying to scatter your teeth on the floor instead of this… Doctor Phil nonsense.”

Dan laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you?”

Lucifer flicked the safety on and tossed the gun into Dan’s lap, who jerked his knees up to catch it (and protect more vulnerable bits), only to watch Lucifer stroll confidently away. Dan pulled at the cuffs. 

“Funny. You’re gonna let me out, right?”

The other man continued toward the door, never breaking stride.

“Lucifer.”

A block of sunlight fell through the door before it slammed shut behind him.

 _“Lucifer.”_ He waited a moment, listening for any sign of the man returning. 

Nothing. 

At least the GPS in his vehicle meant someone would be by to check in on the location when he didn’t report back. 

Eventually.

*

The piano. The piano was a good idea. It was the one item in his home he knew he wouldn’t trash if his anger got the better of him. He had too much respect for it. It wasn’t just a _thing_ that sat around waiting to be looked at, like some kind of decorative stag head. No. The piano was a living, breathing animal: sleek, deceptively heavy, able to conjure up images and emotions from the very bottom of any psyche and feed upon them as a predator. 

At least, that’s how Lucifer saw it. 

Well. That’s how he saw it _tonight._

He hadn’t practiced in ages, and the piano knew it. It eagerly snapped at his fingers and spat out mistakes, until Lucifer’s anger built and the notes became furious, blood red and licking like flames, eager and demanding more and more until he finally slammed his hands down and stood so abruptly the bench went flying. Its clattering matched the cacophony of discordant noise until that, too, died, and he was left in fuming silence.

 _Embarrassing,_ said his father’s voice. Lucifer closed his eyes against it and forced himself to still.

“What is this?” Lucifer demanded sharply. The piano did not answer. 

But, perhaps, it could provide one. 

He smoothed down the front of his shirt and took in a deep breath, then picked up the bench and replaced it. He sat with his head bowed and his hands in his lap, concentrating on his breathing. His gaze flickered over the keys, unseeing: they were elsewhere, searching down pathways and past the endless closed doors of his mind to find - what? That was the question, what was bothering him so. It couldn't just be the girl. It had _never_ just been a girl. Always something else. Always. 

Yet.

Everywhere he searched he found her. Or, more accurately, the absence of her. There was an idea of a woman, yes. But she had always been a shimmering ideal, never real, never able to be real. She did not exist. Just another ghost, haunting him.

But Chloe Decker - Chloe Decker was very real. And solid. And alive. And strong, and quick witted, and had an adorable sort of giggle that didn't at all match her tough-as-nails persona, and she was far too competent and stunningly beautiful for that Daniel - what on _Earth_ could she have ever seen in him that she did not see in -

Oh.

“The Devil doesn't _get_ jealous,” he told the keys. 

But. Maybe _Lucifer_ did.

His finger found middle C and pressed down. Simple. Foundational. The first note all students are taught to find and to return to when lost. Perhaps a little boring, yes. It held none of the allure of the tinkling, heavenly higher chimes, or the melancholic, dulcet tones of the lowest set. But middle C was where all songs grew from. It was home.

“Chloe,” Lucifer said softly. 

He guessed an bouquet wouldn’t really be enough of an apology. A plan started to form.

He began to play.

*

Chloe yelled at Trixie that morning. It was obviously an overreaction - her daughter wasn’t dressed for school by the time they were supposed to be heading out the door - but immediately realizing her mistake didn’t stop the hurt from crossing Trixie’s face. A small “sorry, mommy,” came in response and Chloe apologized, but Trixie remained distant during the car ride.

She could do this. She could. She could be alone. She’d been alone in her marriage; there was no reason why actually being alone should be any different. It was easier, in fact. Now she didn’t have to put on a face for someone else or reassure herself that sometimes relationships were like this. Lucifer? Who was Lucifer to her, really? Some late night fantasy, a disruptive daydream in a three-piece suit, a man who could never give her what she needed, what Trixie needed, and it was better to end it before it began instead of subjecting herself to whatever inevitable outcome awaited _that_ roller coaster ride.

She took in a deep breath as she approached the precinct. This was her life. Taking down criminals one bad guy at a time. _Detective Decker_ certainly had no business thinking about getting into bed with one, no matter how satisfying it was sure to be - because _Chloe_ knew - told herself - the second it was over she’d be left with an even bigger void in her heart than before. Sex with Lucifer would have to be empty, right? Fun, maybe. Okay, _definitely_ fun. But it wouldn’t be what she really needed, even just to get him out of her system.

Right?

 

He showed up.

At her work.

Like it was a totally normal thing he did all the time.

Just strolled in saying hello to anyone who met his eye, a smile at the ready and two to-go coffees in hand. His suit was a dark wine color, flashy despite its demure hue. He set one cup down on her desk. Dan gaped. Chloe gaped. The entire precinct gaped. They might actually have been be fish. 

Lucifer simply waited, fully aware of his status as the apex predator: the shark in a reef. He had absolutely nothing to fear - or, at least, acted that way. If she didn't know him she wouldn't have been able to read the nervous energy skittering beneath his skin. Wait. When did she get to know him? Was he so easy to read to others? The thought almost made her jealous. “What bad guys are we catching today?” he asked.

She couldn't answer. 

“Dude,” Dan started.

Chloe tried to cut off whatever was threatening to come out. “Dan -” 

“Are you serious right now?”

Lucifer didn’t miss a beat. He handed the second coffee over to Dan’s indignantly outstretched hand, who took it unthinkingly. “And that’s for you. An apology. Hope you like pumpkin spice. You struck me as a kind of basic bitch. No offense intended, of course.”

Dan looked at the coffee that appeared to have materialized out of thin air. “Three hours, Lucifer. You left me handcuffed in an abandoned warehouse _for three hours._ ”

“I made it a venti.”

Chloe snorted. She couldn’t help it. Lucifer grinned like the cat that caught the canary and she quickly covered it under a horribly fake cough. The rest of the conversation caught up to her, and she stopped. “Wait. What -”

“Is your lieutenant in?” Lucifer asked suddenly, interrupting her train of thought.

“I think so?” 

With that, he offered a nod, smoothed down his lapel, then disappeared behind her. He got halfway to Pierce’s office before she burst out of her seat and rushed after him. “What are you doing?” she hissed, grabbing his arm to stop him. 

“Offering my services. I apologize. I thought that much was obvious.”

“You want to… help. The police.”

“I’ve been helping you, haven’t I?”

She looked around. A few curious faces were watching them, so she pulled him away toward the interrogation room. He fell easily into step beside her, only thrown off when she turned into the viewing room. The door shut behind him, closing them together in the small space. Had it always been so small? She’d never noticed, before. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish, here?”

Something in him tightened. He offered her a sharp grin. “Pierce owes me a favor. I intend to cash in.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He took a step closer. She stood her ground. “You know I want Herrera to pay for what he did, for what he tried to do. If that requires me to step into this den of vipers, well, it's just like being home for Christmas, isnt it.” His eyes darkened. “No one tries to manipulate me, detective, and gets away with it.”

Her heart beat in her throat, but her words were steady. “There is a line between wanting justice, and wanting revenge. I won’t cross it. And if you want to do this right, I won’t let you cross it, either.”

He pinned her down with his gaze. “If I sought revenge, Herrera wouldn’t be breathing.”

It was a threat. She knows it’s a threat. Against a police lieutenant of all people, her superior, a brother in blue. It shouldn’t thrill her. It _doesn’t._ She won’t let it. 

Lucifer stepped into her personal space, forcing her to tilt her chin up. The heat of their last encounter - though brief - still lingered. “And you know what else I desire.”

She kept her eyes locked on his, afraid to look away. “No one tells you no, do they.”

“No.” 

He said it so easily, like it’s just a fact. Her breathing quickened at the thought of how crazy she must be driving him. _Control._ Her own dark desire. Did he know that about her? Would it make any difference? 

His gaze dipped to the small necklace at her collarbone before continuing leisurely down. It burned as it penetrated the thin cotton of her shirt, and she was convinced he could see right through to what lay beneath. 

Then, oddly, it fell away. He stepped back, leaving Chloe bereft. “But I’d be honored just to work at your side. If you’ll have me.”

“It’s not up to me,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She backtracked. “That’s Pierce’s call.”

Something like hope sparked in him, and he lightened. She could admit: it looked good on him. They both lingered, unsure. After a moment his mouth opened, but whatever he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. He cleared it and lifted a magnanimous hand toward the door, offering for her to lead the way out.

She did.

 

Chloe had expected… more. From Pierce. Truth was he took one look at Lucifer walking into his office behind Chloe and the reaction she got was not what she had anticipated.

“So soon?” Pierce asked, completely nonplussed.

“I have a need,” Lucifer answered, folding himself gracefully down in one of the chairs. Chloe elected to stand. “Your Lieutenant Herrera is dirty.”

Chloe tried not to let her reaction show. For someone who used words to their advantage, Lucifer’s bluntness was unexpected. 

“I know,” Pierce said simply.

Chloe couldn’t believe her ears. “You _know?_ ” she repeated. She looked between them. “And, what? You do nothing? He had a man killed!”

“Allegedly,” Lucifer said, surprising them both. He quickly recovered. “If you don’t do something about it, I will. And I guarantee you will not like my methods. The detective has put together enough circumstantial evidence to warrant your interest. Mainly we need Sokolov to give him up. That’s where you come in. Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

If God had a sense of humor, Chloe would be hearing crickets right now. 

Pierce sighed. “Will that fulfill the terms of our agreement?”

Chloe suddenly understood that Lucifer’s reach was far wider than she would have ever suspected. Some playboy club owner her _ass._ This was a man who had cultivated some serious power. She could feel it humming off him. 

And yet - he was in the process of giving it all up. Slowly, she imagined, but surely, if the remarks from Maze and Delilah were anything to go by. What could ever possess someone with so much to do such a thing? 

Lucifer was perhaps more complex than she’d given him credit for.

“Quite nicely, I think,” Lucifer answered. 

“Fine,” Pierce said, and Chloe thought that was the end of it until he leaned forward with what could almost be called a smile on his face. “I’ll even throw in something extra. And then maybe you can leave me the hell alone?”

Lucifer tipped his head in agreement.

“Herrera’s a dog. He’ll follow any scent, even if it leads him right into the trash. His current dumpster dive is named Royce.”

“The representative?” Chloe confirmed.

“The same. Herrera wants to be chief. Fat chance without that kind of political support. I know how these things work. If you really want to mess with them, there’s some charity or fundraising event the guy’s throwing. They’ll both be there. I’ve suspected Herrera’s getting money through Royce’s campaigning in order to accomplish whatever twisted goals they have in mind for this city. Like it matters. Nothing’s gonna change. Ever. This is the world as it is.”

Chloe stood firm. “It mattered to Justin Green. To his family.” 

Pierce looked to Lucifer. “Around and around.”

Chloe couldn’t explain it, but something inside Lucifer shifted. Hardened. He stood and offered his hand; Pierce followed suit. A wordless exchange passed between them.

Then, she followed Lucifer out, both of them stopping at her desk. “The thing on the 26th,” she supplied. “Remember - I saw it on Herrera’s calendar?”

Lucifer took out his phone and typed something into it. “Well, detective,” he purred. “Let’s get us some invitations, shall we?”

“And what, exactly, are you planning on doing if we get there? Because if the whole point is to threaten a government official -”

“An _elected_ official,” Lucifer corrected.

“- while we wait for Pierce to do whatever for Sokolov to make a deal and take -” she remembered where she was, and lowered her voice, “ _him_ down, then doesn’t that seem like a waste of time? Forensics will be able to prove if what Pierce said is true about the finances, and as much as I hate to say it, Royce probably didn’t have a hand in _his_ plan any more than that, and if he did, then that’ll come out after a look at his funding. We have no reason to go.”

Lucifer studied her face, curious. 

She felt it warm, but tampered it down. “What?” 

“You have no sense of fun, do you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Appearances, need I remind you, are everything. Come on,” he lowered his voice deliciously. “Tell me you don’t want to make them sweat a little. Myself and a top detective at a gala they’re hosting to launder money in an attempt to fund the killing of criminals? Can you just imagine the look on their faces?”

She tried not to. “We don’t know that’s what it is,” she reminded him pointedly, trying not to get stuck on the honey of his voice. “It could really just be a fundraiser.”

“Yes it is. Of course it is. I don’t wish to give this Royce man any credit, but to have the rich and privileged milling about in their evening best while I know full well that the money they’ve donated in a short-sighted attempt to secure their own future will be used to murder my enemies and secure my own? It’s bloody poetic. Come to think of it, it’s exactly the kind of thing my father would do. And has done, if memory serves.” His eyes flashed with tightly controlled anger. “They wanted to inspire fear and chaos. Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine.”

She waited until he calmed to answer. “If you are insistent on going, then I will go with you. But only to keep you in check.” His gaze swept over her, intrigued. “Got it?”

“I do,” he said. It sounded a little too final for her tastes. “Just one question.”

She lifted a brow, waiting. The glimmer in his eye was predatory.

“What are you planning on wearing?”

 

Apparently, Lucifer had no faith in her wardrobe selection, because he could not stop blowing up her phone with requests for her to come to Lux and get fitted by a professional, interspersed, strangely enough, with cat videos. 

At first she thought Trixie had been randomly sending them, because the thought that a _mob boss_ so delighted in watching cats fail to cat that he wanted to share them with her was too strange to comprehend. But, between telling him that _no,_ she hadn’t been out to shop yet, and _no,_ she did not require his services, one video made her laugh enough that she told him so, and something warm bloomed in her heart. 

Trixie caught her smiling at her phone. “Is it Lucifer?” she asked, as they put away their dishes from dinner. 

“What makes you think that?”

Trixie shrugged. “Nobody else makes you smile when you look at your phone.”

Chloe was surprised at her daughter’s insight. Because it was true. Dan’s texts had certainly failed to make her smile for god knows how long, and the random ones from babysitters were usually bad news. Work rarely texted, and when Ella did Chloe was much more likely to be nervous about whatever scheme the younger woman wanted to pull her into. Her mother couldn’t text to save her life, and there really was no one else.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

“It is, actually,” she admitted. “Do you… like him?”

“Yeah,” she said easily. “He’s funny and nice.”

Chloe was in the process of digesting what her daughter’s words could mean when there was a knock at the door, and Trixie was at it before she could stop her. Chloe couldn’t see who it was from the kitchen, but could wager a guess when her daughter squealed and darted out. 

Lucifer stepped inside, poking his head around the open door. Trixie had her arms around his waist. “Ah, detective,” he said, spotting her. “There seems to be something small and loud attached to me.”

“Trixie,” her mother beckoned. They child obeyed. “Speak of the Devil.”

He smiled. Genuinely. “You were talking about me?”

Chloe, for all her training, wasn’t the best liar. “No,” she scoffed. “I mean, not _really._ What - what are you doing at my house?”

He came further inside and bade someone else to do the same. “Since you wouldn’t come to me, I decided to come to you.” A woman came to stand beside him, bowing her head in greeting. She was dressed in a beautifully tailored gray suit that matched her short bob, her whipcord thin body betraying strength and screaming elegance. In her hand was large brown, leather satchel, and crimson cat-eye glasses hung with a delicate chain around her neck. “Madam Joubert is, for all intents and purposes, a magician. If she can make me look respectable I can't imagine what she'll be able to accomplish for someone of your quality.”

The woman looked around and decided the living room would be suitable. She instructed Lucifer to move a few things around and he gladly obliged, only removing his emerald-green suit jacket to do so and revealing the satin, black-backed vest beneath. It was... mildly distracting.

She came back to herself just as he finished. “I’m sure that’s all true, but -”

Lucifer waved off the rest of her half-hearted argument. “Detective, if we are to do this properly, I will not have you wear something off the rack. I’m sorry. I won’t abide it. Please." 

Trixie, of course, was already happily perched on one of the chairs he’d moved - a front row seat. Chloe was having flashbacks of being put on a pedestal and being dressed by her mother, which was decidedly not cool.

She smiled tightly at the woman. “Fine. On the condition that I get final say.” He opened his mouth. “No exceptions.” 

She expected Lucifer to stay, but he didn’t make himself at home. He slipped his jacket back on while Trixie watched with unbridled enthusiasm as the woman opened her bag and began removing her tools of the trade, but then he lingered curiously by the door, almost - nervous, if she were to guess? Chloe noticed, and beckoned him to the side. He obliged.

“Everything okay?”

“Should it not be?” he asked, watching the woman set up while Chloe waited for more. “I would just like for this to go well,” he confessed slowly, choosing his words.

“Your intimidation tactic? I’m sure it’ll go just fine,” she assured.

“No, I’m not really - it’s not that part I’m worried about.”

“So, what?” she ventured, teasing. “You think I’ll be a bad date? Ruin your plans?” He was quiet, and she knew then that that couldn’t be it. “Lucifer?”

His smile was small, but real. “I would like for you to have fun. With me. Regardless of whatever circumstances led us to that place, it is, as you said, still a… date. Is it not?”

She studied his expression. It was honest and open, and looked almost misplaced. He was trying. Whatever this was - he was trying to be… better. This wasn’t the man she saw days earlier in Pierce’s office, or the mobster just trying to get into her pants. How many different faces did this man have? Why could she not stop herself from wanting to discover more?

“Yeah,” she said, deciding. “It’s a date. Can't be any worse than my last one, right?” she asked, awkwardly bumping him with her elbow.

Lucifer didn't look so sure. 

She tried really hard not to think about what that could mean.


	12. Chapter 12

Lucifer had to laugh.

He had been to innumerable events of just this sort starting when he was just a boy, dashing around adults and stealing hor d’oeuvres until a nanny would take him by the ear and whisk him back out of sight, forever jealous that such stuffed shirts like _Amenadiel_ got to hang around with the grown ups and smoke cigars while Lucifer was pushed away to bed with the other children. He went to less of these kinds of parties as a teenager, though he was more than eager to attend others. His father hit a rough patch somewhere in Lucifer’s mid-teens and, coupled with their incessant arguing, led to them barely being able to stand being in the same _house_ as one another, let alone schmoozing people in the same room. Lucifer was little more than muscle to him, then.

Point was, Lucifer’s black-tie formal wear was probably the most worn out of all his current suits, and there was absolutely _no_ reason whatsoever he should be nervous. He wasn’t even planning on hurting anybody this evening. It was just a friendly reminder that he existed, and that Royce and Herrera should be very, very afraid because of it. They would pay for their misdeeds. Whether that happened now or later didn’t matter. They would get what was coming to them. He would ensure it.

Lucifer had told Chloe he wasn’t interested in justice, which was true. But he was also no longer interested in revenge. It felt below him to retaliate in the manner in which he was expected, and he had never been very good at living up to people’s expectations. No, Lucifer was going through all this trouble for one reason and one reason only.

He would see them _punished._

He adjusted his bow tie for the umpteenth time (tying and retying it during several fussy attempts) as he paced his penthouse floor, a somewhat muted if noticeable buzz already in effect. He was trying to to stay sharp. The detective said she would be keeping an eye on him, and the last thing he wanted to be was sloppily drunk around her. Unlike the last time. He didn’t want to subject her to his whining like that again, even if it did result in her warm and steady presence beside him. He wanted to show her that she could be that way with him any day. That she could trust him. 

As foolish as that sounded.

Lucifer should know better. He _should._ All evidence pointed to the fact that people could smile at you one moment and stab you in the back the next. Or concurrently, though it required a bit of stretch. He checked his onyx cuff links (again), and his perfectly slicked-back hair (no reason not to look the part), then his watch, whose crisp white face and gold accents told him it wouldn’t be unreasonable to leave now, even if he arrived somewhat early at the detective’s humble abode. Maybe if he got there early enough they could share a drink.

Lucifer knew as he eagerly punched the elevator button to descend that he was probably in too deep with the detective. He wouldn't be going through all this trouble for someone he wished to simply bed, and labeling his intrigue of her as a crush felt far too immature. But, as he hadn’t really felt _alive_ in so long, he couldn’t bring himself to care what it could mean, so long as he got to continue spending time with her.

He only allowed himself one cigarette on the way over, and hoped that the Aston Martin’s open top would help to keep his scent decidedly unlike an ashtray. He pulled over a short distance from her home to check himself in the mirror and concentrate on reducing his damn heart rate before feeling confident enough to pull up to her driveway and kill the engine. He’d tortured himself for over a week with wondering what she would wear, able to trust that his tailor wouldn’t allow her out in something that would have disappointed him or didn’t match his tastes. He could imagine a slick, white gown with a slit _all_ the way up, or maybe something that showed off her shoulders, offering a tantalizing glimpse of what she might look like without a top (for his memory from her _Hot Tub High School_ debut sorely needed an update). He knocked on her door, eager and bouncy, holding two secret gifts behind his back.

The child opened it. He had anticipated that, and swiftly held one offering out to keep her from lunging forward. Why the girl insisted on throwing herself on him he had no idea, but he really didn’t want any mishaps tonight, including a wrinkled suit. Her beaming smile alighted even further when she carefully took the clear, plastic box from his hands, popping it open. Lucifer glanced over her; the detective was nowhere to be seen. 

“Whatcha got there?” asked the babysitter from the couch. Trixie looked to Lucifer for the answer.

“A corsage,” he told her, then lifted the white flowers and indicated for her to give him her wrist. She obliged, and he slipped the elastic on one handed. It was big for her wrist and slipped a little, but she didn’t seem to mind. “That reminds me,” he said seriously, wondering where the detective was (and a little disappointed she was missing the show, but it may have been for the best). The child looked up at him with big, brown eyes, and something warm lit in Lucifer’s chest. He went to stamp it out like a sudden fire, but then realized at the last moment that it felt… nice. He produced the second clear, plastic container and lowered his voice. “Your mother let it slip once that you were quite a fan of chocolate cake. This is the finest layer cake in the city.” She took it and held it to her chest like a treasure. He bent slightly over. “You may wish to hide that until we leave.”

She nodded, conspiratorial, then dashed off toward the kitchen. He stepped further inside. The babysitter, some teenager, hooked an arm over the back of the couch and openly leered. Usually he’d be fine with such forwardness, but something about it felt invasive. Perhaps because she was seeing him before the detective. “You look nice,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said curtly, resisting the urge to fidget. “Your employer is where?”

“Here,” said Chloe, descending the stairs. 

“Perfect -” he directed his gaze, and all the air left his lungs.“... timing.”

His mouth dropped open. No, Joubert had certainly _not_ disappointed, but Lucifer could say he was definitely not expecting _that_. What Chloe wore was not some imitation of a men’s suit or comparable to what a woman may wear to an interview or conference, but a suit in a class all its own, distinctly feminine and yet sharp as a knife. Lucifer had never felt so woefully underdressed. He hadn’t anticipated needing to work to impress anyone at a congressman’s fundraiser. 

The deep, rich color contained just enough crimson to confuse the eye from thinking it a simple black. Two buttons were undone at the top of the crisp white shirt beneath, showing off the dainty gold necklace he had yet to see her without. She wore heels of a dark, dusky rose color, with a bit of bare skin between them and the hem. In a similar way she had pushed up the sleeves to stylishly show off her wrists and the gold bracelet encircling one. Her hair was loose with a small section pinned to the side and away from her face, and her eye makeup was smoky but understated. 

She stopped a few steps from the bottom at his silence. “Well?” she prompted. “How do I look?”

 _Beautiful_ wasn’t enough. _Heavenly_ didn’t quite fit, either. He struggled to find the right descriptor while she waited, her smile fading. 

“How _dare_ you,” he started, outraged, “look better than I do.”

She miraculously took it as the compliment it was meant to be, and huffed out a disbelieving laugh while coming the rest of the way down and calling out for Trixie. The girl hugged her mother and showed off Lucifer’s gift, though where he would usually be feeling quite proud of himself for thinking of it now he only felt embarrassed, like it wasn’t enough, like nothing he did would ever be enough. He tried to smile when she thanked him, but found he couldn’t hold it when she looked away to grab her clutch and give some last minute instructions to the babysitter. When was the last time he had been so impressed? 

When was the last time he had been so intimidated? 

 

The event was being held, of course, at a country club. It was the natural habitat of upper-middle management types who believed their dick size (or what they could do with it) didn’t matter so long as they could ply their wives and girlfriends (if they were lucky enough to possess such a creature) with mediocre diamonds and semi-pleasurable vacations to such exciting places as Lake Tahoe and Vail. No matter. Lucifer knew these people well. They had been his bread and butter for a long time before he began moving in different circles, and he told Chloe as such.

“I can’t really see you attending mixers and daughter’s weddings,” she told him.

“Please,” he begged, as he pulled up to the valet. “Easy pickings. Like fruit on the vine. I should thank people like this, actually. They helped me gain quite a nice foothold here.”

The valet, a young man who was a sprite too eager - probably still new on the job - paused only briefly to assess the opposite-sided car before he came around and opened Chloe’s door for her, which prompted Lucifer to hand him a hundred dollar bill along with a careful look. No words were needed for the youth to understand the message, and he dipped his head as he passed to slip quietly into the driver’s seat.

Chloe hesitated by the front door while Lucifer caught up to her, but it wasn’t out of politeness; there was something nervous about the tense way she held herself, which he hadn’t expected. He decided not to go in right away - no point in that, they had the whole evening - so he stepped out a ways to the side to look over the greenery of the golf course, its emerald swaths lying placid and still beneath the velvety blue and violet twilight. The chatter from inside and the open patio area around the back were dim and distant enough to offer them some privacy, and Lucifer resisted the urge to light up a cigarette when she followed him over to stand at his side. 

He wanted to promise her that he wouldn’t act rashly when in Herrera’s company, or too harshly against Royce when he finally came face-to-face with the money behind the hairbrained operation, or even just say that she could trust him to handle the situation without causing a scene. But as he didn’t lie, it was difficult. 

She must have sensed that, which explained the nervousness. 

He had to try.

Lucifer briefly cleared his throat. “I find I’m not particularly good at assurances,” he began, disliking the memory of her hurt look when she left the club that night, “not when it comes to _non_ violence, at least.” He tried for a smile; Chloe was looking up at him, stoically blank-faced but curious. “But -” 

She cut him off. “Just - promise me one thing.”

He hoped he could.

“Tell me you won’t, I don’t know, burst into song?” She smiled, light if a little forced. “These people do have some clout in the department and I’d rather stay a detective and also not die of embarrassment.”

He huffed out a laugh and the mood lifted, then sighed as though heavily put out. “I suppose.”

“Thank you,” she said easily, then steeled herself. She slipped her arm into his, which was unexpected, then nodded once as though assuring the troops before battle. “Let’s do this.” He made to move, but she suddenly stopped him. “Maybe I should have patted you down, first.”

He leered, teasing. “You’re more than welcome to _now,_ if you like.”

She seemed to think about it, which made his smile widen, but then she laughed - a real laugh - and turned them so they could walk inside.

Together.

She wasn’t afraid to be seen with him. Afraid of what it might do to her reputation or standing in the department, or worried about keeping a low profile, or even staying in the shadows to monitor him from afar. She could’ve stuck a wire on his chest and been done with it, but - no. She wanted to be here. With him. 

No matter what the rest of the night held, that was enough. 

 

Royce was easy enough to spot, the center of too many fake-smiles and light conversation, his forgettable face subtly powdered to combat shine against the few cameras that loitered around the milling groups of people: professional photographers working to get semi-candid shots for some politico website to boast between revenue-generating advertisements. Lucifer and Chloe were able to slip into the large hosting room relatively unnoticed, which was a surprise for him and, he could tell, a relief for her. 

The room itself boasted a well-stocked bar, three crystal chandeliers glinting in the warm, friendly light, a few large windows looking out toward the golf course, now dark and offering contrast against the calm, taupe walls. Two dozen standing tables were overlain with champagne-colored tablecloths, gently flickering tea-candles, and centerpieces of greenery and small flowers. Furthest from the entrance way was a small stage with a live band playing a pleasant bluesy mix in what could have been an attempt to elevate the quality of the crowd. Beside the bar, French double doors sat open to the patio area, letting in the warm breeze that circulated around the room before coming into contact with the air conditioning, creating pockets of warm and cold air. Lucifer could see a few familiar faces out there and knew he’d like to make himself known there before the night was over. All were dressed in evening wear, nothing quite as dashing as the pair of them, but Lucifer did at least hold onto one truth: you could never be overdressed or over educated.

Chloe, still on his arm, directed them toward a table offering glasses of champagne. She unwound herself from him - he missed the warmth immediately - and quickly grabbed a glass, sparing it only the barest of glances before turning her attention back to surveying the room. He realized, belatedly, that he had barely given anyone else a thought, let alone being on the lookout for Herrera. Not since she’d taken his arm.

He suddenly couldn’t care less why they were there.

 _Pull yourself together,_ he chided harshly. It was sufficient to get Lucifer to straighten, grab a glass, and follow suit. _Good boy,_ came the detective’s breathy voice, unbidden, from his memory - it was all he could do not to lean down and beg her to say it again. _I can be good,_ he thought. _I could be so good for you._

_Or so, so bad._

That sobered him up. Also, apparently she had asked him a question. He hadn’t been listening, noticing only when she looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes?”

“You have?”

“Have what?”

Her shoulders sagged. “Seen Herrera?” she asked, her voice low despite their present solitude. 

He looked over her head to surreptitiously glance around the room, focusing especially on the bar. “Nothing, dar...tective. Apologies.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but a smile was playing at the corners of her mouth, so he took it as a win. She turned away and he could only wonder - why was she here? Yes, what she said, to keep an eye on him, though he continued to find himself remarkably level-headed in her presence. If she hadn’t been here he was sure he would have entered this room on a mission, much in the same way a wrecking ball enters a room to do a spot of redecorating. But now, seeing Royce in the flesh, he saw little more than a man pretending not to be out of his depth, acting a part set out for him in such a way that sparked a measure of empathy in Lucifer. Hadn’t they all been manipulated into playing parts on a stage not of their own making?

Royce held a tumbler to his lips as his eyes wandered the room in search of a reprieve, only to alight on Lucifer. He choked on the drink, managing by some miracle not to get any on the cream-colored shirt or black tie, though he did quickly excuse himself under what Lucifer could only assume to be the pretense of getting a napkin. Lucifer made to follow as he ducked toward the bar, but Chloe’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Let me do what I came here for, at least,” he asked her.

“I’m watching you,” she warned.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She released him and he swiftly made his way to the corner of the bar, where Royce was chatting amiably with the bartender and uselessly patting down his dry shirt in what Lucifer now knew was only an excuse to get away from others. Lucifer lifted two fingers and ordered their best whiskey, then sided up to an increasingly-stiffening Royce, fully aware of the detective’s eyes on his back. It gave him a bit of thrill to have an audience where he would usually have none, and wondered if Royce would turn bright red or if all the blood would drain out of his face while they spoke, hoping for enough of a reaction that Chloe could see it from across the room.

“Joe. May I call you Joe?” Lucifer asked, accepting the drink and turning, leisurely, to face the man behind the money. “I’m sure you already know my name, given how you tucked your tail between your legs and ran.”

Royce’s grip on the cloth napkin tightened, though he put it down on the smooth, wood grain counter. “Mr. Morningstar. I wasn’t aware you’ve donated.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But what’s a measly five grand for a face to face? I wanted to see the man who killed mine.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

Lucifer tisked. He took a drink; Royce didn’t use it as the opportunity it was to escape, letting Lucifer know that he was the one in control of their conversation. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t lie to me,” he said, low. He leaned in, fixing his gaze right in the middle of Royce’s pupils, able to see himself reflected back in their dark depths. “You can’t lie to the Devil.”

Royce cracked a nervous smile. He would need to repowder soon if he wanted to keep the shine off his increasingly-pale face. “You’re not really the Devil,” he told Lucifer as much as he assured himself. “You’re just some guy like the rest of us.”

Lucifer didn’t answer right away. It was enough time to let Royce squirm, and Lucifer suppressed a grin. He took another drink to finish his glass, then set it down between them before carefully overlaying his hand atop Royce’s, which still clutched the dry napkin. It was loose enough that Royce to pull away if he wished. He didn’t. Their touch was hidden from all but the bartenders, who paid them no mind. Perhaps Royce was into _other_ things as well, given how he swallowed as Lucifer's hand lingered. Lucifer, on his part, didn’t want to keep skin-to-skin contact with the cretin for any longer than necessary, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He tested out his theory with a small smile, and brushed his thumb over his skin. 

“Oh, Joe,” he began, almost wistfully. “I’m really not. And tonight, when you go to sleep, you’ll be thinking of me. Of the kinds of things I would _happily_ do to you.” He gently turned over Royce’s hand and stepped closer, trapping them in a bubble of his own design, and he leaned down to speak directly in his ear. “You are messing with forces you do not understand. Dipping your toe into a lake of fire. I would almost feel sorry for you, if you had gone after anyone else’s enterprise. You see, Herrera thought me the easiest target. The most likely to retaliate.” He squeezed Royce’s wrist, digging his nails into the soft flesh, and felt him jump. Lucifer spoke through gritted teeth. “And he was right.”

Lucifer released him, but before Royce could scamper off he made a show of adjusting his collar and tie, as though they had simply been engaged in friendly chatter. “I will come for you, Joe,” he said breezily. “I will come for you and I will end your life.” He patted down the tie and stepped back.

Royce stood there, frozen. Lucifer was happy the message finally got through. “H-h-h-ow?”

“How?”

“H-how do I get you -” Royce glanced around him, ensuring no one was listening - “to not do that.”

“You’re sure?” Lucifer asked, innocently. “You would be making a deal with the Devil, after all.”

“I’m - yes. Yes. Whatever Herrera did, I don’t want any part of it. I thought he was just going to - you know - set up more funding. Not this.”

It wasn’t an unanticipated change of events, but it did catch Lucifer off guard. His initial reaction was to have Royce give him money, whatever it was he gave Herrera plus interest, and perhaps some other goodies as well - like Herrera himself, on a silver platter - but then he remembered the detective. She would want things done by the book. Done right. She would want Royce to spill his guts and get a dirty cop off the payroll.

“I believe an I.O.U. will have to suffice for now. A favor to be repaid, whenever I need it. Understood?”

Royce did. They shook on it, and as Lucifer walked away, he found he didn’t regret his decision. Not one bit. 

Chloe was waiting near where he’d left her, roped into some conversation with three others and playing the part well, but visibly relieved when he approached. “Everything okay?” she asked, stepping away from the little group. He flashed her a smile. She saw right through it and gestured for them to return to a more private spot. “What happened?”

“He’ll owe me a favor.”

“In exchange for…?”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d threatened his life, sure that she would be able to gleam it anyway. “Doesn’t matter. He’s all yours.”

“What do you mean he’s all mine?”

“I mean when the time comes to ruin Herrera I have the feeling he’ll cooperate. Fully.”

She looked taken aback. “That’s it?”

It was his turn to be stumped. “Is that not enough?”

She held a mixture of emotions on her face that he couldn’t quite decipher, though the most prevalent was confusion. 

“Have you seen Herrera?” he asked, eager to ride the rush of… whatever this was into a bit more cat-and-mouse. She shook her head, but he wasn’t too disappointed. A bit of a faster song came on just as he was going to suggest going to the bar or outside, and he found he wanted to dance with her more than anything. 

“No way,” she steadfastly declined, a laugh in her words. “Not a chance.”

“Surely you must know how,” he urged, taking her hand and trying to get her to approach the makeshift floor. 

“Surely I must not know how to do _anything,_ ” she rebutted, mimicking his accent briefly. She pulled her hand back, but the smile stayed. He gave her a beat to change her mind, and when she didn’t he tucked his arm around her and pulled her along anyway. “ _Lucifer!_ ” she hissed. “What are you do-”

Her argument was cut off when he whirled her around, and finally she laughed, and the sound entered his soul like a breath of air and he a man drowning; he set one hand on her waist while the other took her hand and they spun around, and he wanted nothing more than to hear her laugh again and again, bright and tinkling like bells, like sunshine, like a million things he had thought he could never have, could never deserve - 

The song retained its jaunty tune but they mellowed into something softer. He wondered if she felt the same shift he had, and was rewarded when she rested her chin on his shoulder. He bent further down - though with her heels, it was easier - to her ear, to smell her hair and perfume, still slowly spinning, forever moving in a dance he never wanted to end. He resisted the urge to pull her closer, knowing that it wouldn't be satisfying with all these cumbersome clothes on, too many layers between them, between what he really wanted. Yet just keeping her here, this close, was more than enough to blank out his mind. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so in the moment, unworried of what the next would bring, always needing to be two, three, four steps ahead of everyone else. To be concerned only with now, right now, was a gift.

Soon - sooner than he thought it could - the song changed into something slower, but they stayed as they were. Chloe pulled away only enough to look into his face, searching for - what? He didn’t know. There were a million questions he could ask her, different ways to break this tension between them, this moment, to lighten it to something more familiar, but he could not. Would not. And she didn’t either, content to remain silent in his embrace, the corners of her mouth upturned in a smile that he wanted to keep there, always. 

_Lucifer Morningstar hurts people._

Yes, but not her, never her - he would burn this city to ash before he ever intentionally hurt her, ever allowed harm to come to her ever again, this woman who was just like and so unlike anyone he’d ever met, and how could he tell her that without frightening her? She took a bullet for a total stranger, a man who had hit on her after a bad date, a man even he strained now to recognize; she worked every day with her only complaint being that she couldn’t get murderers off the street fast enough; took care of her daughter with that douchebag without ever taking it out on the child; compassionate, warm, sharp, took none of his shit, a real soul in a city full of fakes, made him feel - 

Made him _feel_ -

“Well, don’t you look cozy,” said Herrera.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair Warning: this chapter is the reason I increased the original rating of mature to explicit. I hope that didn't cause confusion, but I couldn't keep the language clean enough for M. :) WOLLFGANG YOU ARE WARNED 
> 
> Also!! I dont have Twitter but I was able to see some folks talking about this fic there and I wanted to say it made me literally die of happiness and that I ascended bodily into Heaven and into the arms of sweet baby Jesus. Please know that I cherish every and all comments, they are such wonderful gifts! Thank you all so so much!

Chloe tugged her hand from Lucifer’s so fast he was sure it would leave a burn mark. Or at least it felt like it. 

“Lieutenant!” she greeted, in a too-cheerful voice. “I didn’t realize you also supported -”

Herrera’s patronizing look was enough to get her to drop the act. “I expected better of you, Decker.”

Lucifer blood boiled at the way the remark made Chloe unsure - even momentarily - but he kept a furiously tight lid on it. “I didn’t expect anything from you,” he told him. “Yet I’m still disappointed.”

Herrera just laughed. “Okay.”

“Your plans have failed in every way.”

The remaining couples on the dance floor had enough room to give them a wide berth and the semblance of privacy, and though he felt no need to move, apparently the detective did not either. She stayed firmly planted by his side after her initial jolt from Herrera. 

“My plans? For what?” he asked boredly, then addressed Chloe. “Please don’t tell me you’ve allowed him to suck you into one of his delusions.”

Like Lucifer wasn’t even there. 

Chloe didn’t balk. “A man’s dead because of you.”

“Who?” asked Herrera, amused. Smart. He wasn’t going to give up any more info than they already had. Not like this, anyway. Lucifer could think of a few torture techniques he’d be very happy to try out on the lieutenant. Or he could let Maze loose on him, though he probably wouldn’t survive it. 

_Maze._ He’d forgotten he was supposed to be mad at her. He wasn’t anymore. What's a little betrayal and backstabbing between friends?

“Justin Green,” supplied Lucifer. 

Herrera addressed Chloe. “I know he’s one of Morningstar’s guys, and I know he turned up dead, but I had nothing to do with that. I have nothing to do with any murders he thinks I do. Be smart about this, Decker. This really the guy you’re willing to risk your career on? Some wannabe godfather?”

Normally, such insults were below him. And truly it wasn’t the jabs at his person that were angering him, but at the way it made Chloe waver, and that he couldn’t tolerate. He started forward, but Chloe’s quick hand on his stomach held him back. At least Herrera finally locked eyes on him. 

“Death follows you wherever you go. You’re _poison,_ Morningstar. Couldn’t even keep your car guy from biting a bullet. And look where it’s got her. If you give a shit about Decker, you’ll leave her the fuck alone.”

“Car guy?” asked Chloe. For some reason she’d deemed it significant, though Lucifer couldn’t have cared less about the botched assassination attempt now.

“Yeah. You remember Talbert. James Talbert.” Herrera looked smug.

“You knew the shooter?” Lucifer dragged his eyes from Herrera to look at Chloe. A small crease knit her brow, but the look on her eyes was teetering precariously on betrayal. “I thought it was random.” Her gaze flickered between the two men. “That’s what the official report says. Random shooter. No discernable motive.” 

Small gears began turning in Lucifer’s mind, but he wasn’t sure what they were opening. “I knew him.” _He was working for the Armenians._

_Except._

_He wasn’t, was he? Aleksandr had no bad blood between us before I spilled his._

“Yeah, random. _Sure._ I don’t think anything _randomly_ happens in Lucifer’s little universe. There’s always benefit to tragedy, and there’s always someone behind the scenes pulling the strings.”

“On that I’d have to agree,” Lucifer found himself saying. Chloe gave him a curious look. _Four steps ahead._ He smiled - genuinely - at Herrera. “You have yourself a good evening, Lieutenant. Enjoy the party.”

Lucifer managed to push past without incident, keeping the tension balled up in his fists. He wanted a cigarette, bad, but the patio was chock full of people he really couldn’t tolerate right now, and the entrance way was blocked by two or three faces he recognized, so he started down a different hallway that led deeper into the country club and passing wait staff until he was clear of the kitchen. He strode purposefully down the empty hall until he was sure he was alone, then began checking doors until he found one that was unlocked. Just somewhere - anywhere - for a breather. 

Somewhere to _think._

His hand was shaking as he flicked on the light. It would have to do. A woman’s powder room, he guessed, though it wasn’t attached to a bathroom - a remnant of an older time, perhaps - but it had the prerequisite full length mirror opposite a long countertop where chairs should have been but were long gone. The lights were not overhead but bulbs attached around the mirrors on the counter, same as could be found in makeup studios, though their warm light was slightly more forgiving. He pulled the cigarette case from his jacket pocket and crossed the room in two easy strides to reach a high window. It wouldn’t budge. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth but his trusty lighter wouldn’t work no matter how hard he flicked it, and, frustrated, he slammed both on the counter behind him. He leaned back against the counter, elbows locked, and absently studied himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. 

_Talbert._ It made sense that Herrera, being the watchdog he was, knew about Lucifer’s occasional off-the-books request when it came to procuring vehicles. Maze and his people had been selling them off lately (making some nice little change in his pocket, though not as much as he would have hoped). Once he’d had a veritable fleet of luxury cars, some with a few black market modifications, so Talbert wasn’t Lucifer’s only contact but he did know where to get what Lucifer wanted at almost any given time and was always fair about prices, so he went to him more often than not. 

The gun he had - the glock - wasn’t exactly police issue, but it wouldn’t have batted an eye around a precinct. 

And he had seemed exceedingly nervous. Like killing Lucifer was something he was being forced to do under extreme duress. He’d had dealings with the criminal underworld so many times before that Lucifer couldn’t imagine he’d become suddenly scared of his clientele. Well, not any more than he should have reasonably already been, anyway.

And instead of running, like any sane person would when Lucifer let him go with his life, Talbert sought him out in an attempt to finish the job. Maze put one of his own bullets in his head for the trouble. 

_Why?_

Chloe suddenly opened the door, and looked relieved. “I thought I lost you.”

He was on the precipice of something and didn’t want to lose it, but if anyone could help it would be her. “Say Herrera blackmailed Talbert into killing me. Why would he turn around and use Green in an attempt to provoke me into action already knowing or at least heavily suspecting that I’d involved myself in the deaths of Aleksandr and the bratva? _I was already in retaliation mode._ There was no reason for Green to die, let alone to go through all that trouble.”

Chloe shut the door quickly but gently behind her. “What are you trying to say?”

“Perhaps… Herrera didn’t think it was enough?” He shook his head. “But - and as loathe as I am to admit it - that doesn’t seem right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I’m confused. I thought we had all the evidence laid out in front of us.”

Chloe was quiet. And distant. “What if you were wrong?”

“About?”

“All of it.”

“Somebody still had Justin Green killed,” he answered, taken aback.

She lifted a placating hand and stepped closer. “I know. But I wonder if the meaning you attributed to the manner of his death is wrong. He could have just been stabbed in whatever way for whatever reason by that Jimmy the hitman guy - if he wasn’t lying about doing it -” 

“He had no reason to lie.”

“- and who wasn’t fully aware of the frankly esoteric, underground _whatever_ you place on a puncture wound through the ribs. Coincidences do happen.”

“Yes but not to me!” Lucifer shouted, losing his cool only briefly, but enough to make the detective eye him warily. “Don’t you see what’s happening? It’s _doubt._ ” He pointed at her head. “That little sliver, oh, just enough to make you question, to make you not trust me -”

She overlaid her hand atop his and brought it down. “I do trust you.”

Lucifer’s brain skittered to a halt.

“This is what police work is. You can't rely on assumptions. You have to come at a problem from every angle before an answer illuminates itself, and a lot of the time the answer that first appears, no matter how much you like it, isn’t necessarily the right one. And I would know. Okay?” Her blue eyes bore into his. “Appearances are deceiving, too. Herrera may not be behind Green’s murder but may be behind Talbert’s attempt on your life -”

“So you were thinking that, too?”

She tilted her head. “I didn’t like him bringing up Talbert _specifically_ as an example. It comes up in interrogation a lot. What people want to hide the most is often what’s on the forefront of their mind.”

Lucifer could attest to that. It’s a difficult habit to break.

She looked tired. “So that means we might be looking at different people. Doesn't make Herrera any more innocent, just maybe less guilty. You didn’t get anything from the hitman?”

Lucifer shook his head. “Jimmy didn’t know who hired him. All by proxy. And he’s in the wind, now.” She took in that information. Right. She probably thought he was dead. _Oops._ “Has Pierce gotten back to you about a deal with Sokolov?”

Chloe looked surprised. “You didn’t hear? Sokolov’s dead. Prison fight.”

“Great,” said Lucifer, definitely not meaning it. “Was that before or after Pierce spoke with him? Could he have gotten any info?”

“Uh, that day, actually. I think Pierce was on his way back. I’d have to double check.”

Not that it mattered much. “So let me get this straight. The only man who could connect the attempt on both our lives to Herrera is currently rotting underground. The man who actually killed Green had no motivation to do it other than he was being paid to by an unknown person, and the only one who could connect _that_ individual to Green’s murder precisely because he was finding someone else to go down for it is now _also_ dead?”

Chloe took a moment to go over in all again in her head. “Yes.”

Lucifer snorted. Whoever was behind any or all of this had a lot of practice at cleaning up their messes. He’d be impressed if it were anyone else’s problem, but someone needed punishing for going against him, and he needed to know who. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know,” said Chloe, more dejected than he’d ever seen her. “I don’t know. I just wish -” she looked to the ceiling, shaking her head - “I wish I had a partner.”

Lucifer felt her frustration, but her desire still stung. Was he not doing his best? “I’m available.”

She smiled, but it soon disappeared. “Thanks. But, a real one. I mean you know a lot about a lot of things, but there's something to be said about knowing how cops think, too. Someone who understands the force. Don’t - make another Star Wars reference.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up, but like Chloe, Lucifer saw little amusement in their current situation. He couldn’t stand to see her so disheartened. There was such a calmness to her sadness, and none of the lashing out (or lashing inward) or anger that usually accompanied his own. Just a simple, clean sorrow that filled up her features until nothing else remained. He had never been any good at comfort, especially when on the receiving end, for such displays usually only made him push deeper inside himself to a place where the walls were thick enough to hide behind. But also had he never felt someone else’s pain so keenly, almost unbearably, that he couldn’t just stand here and watch it happen.

He offered a hand. She looked at it. “I’m sorry.” When she didn’t take it, he reached down and grabbed hers, then tugged a little. She stayed fast. “Please. Forgive me.”

“For?” 

“Well, first -” he tugged her closer until she was stumbling into him, then hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, hoping his crude attempt was welcome. “That.”

He felt her shake her head, but there was amusement in it. “Lucifer,” she said, muffled. He let up slightly and she adjusted to him, pressing her temple to his jaw, then slid her arms around his waist and held on. It was all he could do to shut his eyes and feel her breathing against his chest, his hands tentatively resting on her back.

“And, also, for anything else you’d like to blame me for. The Devil made me do it, right? Any little failings in this whole mess of a case, I can take the blame.” He felt her sigh. “I am rash, and wrathful, and I’m sorry that I’ve roped you into this world, and I know you deserve better. A better partner. A better… person.” 

The realization - apparently he had needed to say the actual words aloud to see the truth - had him gripping the detective by the shoulders and pulling her away from him, even though it was the very last thing he wanted to do and akin to ripping his own arm off. 

“As I said. If it wasn’t for me, you would have never been in danger in the first place. I’ve been… selfish, using you in my own pursuit of - whatever you’d like to call it. And I think now -”

“If you say ‘now’s a good time for us to split up’ I am really going to think you’re nuts,” Chloe said, standing her ground. “Not when we’ve come so far and are this close to figuring this out. The elimination of possibilities still leaves us moving forward, even when it seems like we're getting more questions than answers. I don’t give up, Lucifer, and neither should you.”

 _We’ve only just begun._ Maze’s voice echoed in his mind, though the situations couldn’t be more different. An angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other. How fitting for the Devil. 

_The Devil._

He’d been using the persona so long he sometimes forgot what it was to have been without it. Many people laughed when he first introduced himself, but soon - especially after seeing what he could do - there was that little glimmer of uncertainty in their eyes, that flicker of a question that made him almost giddy with excitement. When he was in a tight spot, having to make a decision that could invariably lead to unknown but potentially equally destructive outcomes, he would sometimes ask himself: what would Lucifer do? 

And now, alone with the detective after hitting a roadblock with what he’d come to think of as their case, and she looking so utterly ravishing as to make his heart palpitate _and_ having done nothing whatsoever this evening to show her that, Lucifer asked himself: what would the Devil do? Would he simply allow her to walk away in sadness and pick up again tomorrow, especially seeing how she’d stood by his side in the face of an adversary? 

_Absolutely not_. 

“Lucifer?” she asked, hesitant. He’d been staring for too long.

 _Think,_ man. Don't lose her. “You… are so much more than Herrera gives you credit for. Thinking he could use you against me, not because you're obviously an excellent detective, but for your physical charms - why, I've half a mind to beat him solely for the disrespect he’s shown you. If you took your abilities and applied them elsewhere… you could be a Queen, I think.” 

Her amusement looked almost pained. “Okay.” 

“I mean it. Don't you see? Your superiors don't value you, not like they should. Why waste your time working for men like that?”

“As an alternative to what, exactly. Working for you?”

He chuckled. “Me? No. God, no. I could never have you as anything but an equal, detective. And I hate that you'd think otherwise.” He pressed forward. “These last few weeks, you know, I've been moving forward, trying to leave old things behind. But, I think if you were to join me, I might not be so hasty. Its not the money that makes a boss, Chloe. It's the connections. The relationships, the favors, knowing people and how they work. You are already so close to what you could become.”

She was beginning to look alarmed. “What?”

“Think about it. Think about who you could be, the potential lurking inside you for greatness, not stale coffee and bureaucratic nonsense. We could take down syndicates. Go international. Be beyond the law. Do what truly needs to be done. The wicked need punishing, and who better to take them down than you and I? We could live however we like. _Rule_.”

 _That ego._ He could hear Charlotte’s voice in his head like a particularly insistent insect, warning him. Yet Lucifer sensed a shift in the air. There was something there he was touching on, he was sure of it. Chloe was still wary, but the wavering there was something he was eager to exploit. Bloodlust or plain lust, he needed her to understand what he saw in her in this moment - someone whom even he could fear. 

She took a half step back as though to distance herself from his words, but he didn’t let her. In a rough flash he had her spun around to face the full-length mirror, an arm wrapped over her chest to keep her in place. His jacket protested at the angle, the muscles beneath straining the fabric, and she wriggled a bit to try and free herself. His other hand rested on her hip and pulled her flush to him. He held fast. “Detective. Look at yourself.”

“Lucifer,” she hissed, not cooperating.

“Trust me,” he said, speaking low in her ear.

She stopped fussing and sighed, meeting her own eyes in the full mirror before looking up to his. “If you are going to tell me that I am beautiful, and smart, and brave, and that this suit looks amazing on me, I’ll save you the trouble because I already know.” She wrapped her hands around his forearm, effectively letting him know she wanted him to let go while also covering herself. _Posturing._

He cracked a smile at that. “I certainly hope you do. I’ve never been one to belie pride, myself.”

Oh, it was so much easier to be the Devil. No hesitation. No nervousness. 

“I simply want you to see your own face when you tell me the truth. And nothing but the truth,” he threw in, cheeky.

Her grip tightened slightly. “About what?”

He met her eyes in the mirror. “Why you really came here tonight.”

She shook her head, her golden hair shimmering in the muted light. “We’ve been over this, Lucifer. I knew you weren’t going to let up, and I didn’t want you to lose your head and turn this into a bloodbath. There is such a thing called due process, and Royce and Herrera have a right to it just like everybody else.”

He shifted her slightly. The movement sent a brief jolt southward, with her perfect rear pressing up against the front of his trousers, and he pulled her hair off the shoulder to pile it with the rest on the other side. “Were you concerned with the safety of others?”

“Yes,” she answered, watching him carefully.

He pressed a chaste kiss just above her collar. She shivered deliciously. “Were you concerned for me?”

She took a moment to respond. “Yes.”

His gaze shifted down to her tantalizingly close skin, and he breathed in the gentle scent of her, something slightly vanilla. It made him tighten his grip around her chest, possessive. “Look at yourself when you answer.” 

Her breathing picked up. “Why are you playing Devil’s advocate?” 

“Somebody has to.” He watched her swallow, and her lips parted. His tongue darted out to wet his own. “Why were you concerned for me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to do something stupid, like attack a police lieutenant in a room full of people.” _Still being stubborn._

Not how he would have gone about it, but she did have a point. “And?” he asked. The warmth of her bled into him, and his hips ever so slightly pushed into her.

“I… didn’t want you to end up doing something you could be arrested for.”

He slowly began to let up the arm covering her. Her hands fell to her sides with just enough of a swing that he could tell she wanted to hang onto the counter on either side of his long legs. He brushed his fingers over the skin on her chest, causing goosebumps, then down her lapel, following it to the two buttons keeping her jacket closed. “Why?” he asked, flicking them open and looking up briefly to meet her gaze to watch for any discomfort. There was none. He slipped his hand onto the silky fabric on her stomach, warm and smooth as skin, and felt her breath pick up. “Am I not a criminal? Don’t I deserve to be imprisoned?”

He felt her intake of breath as his fingers skirted down and over the fabric of her waistband. She pressed back gently against him, her chin tilting up as she let her head fall against him. The movement - though slight - meant she was opening up to him, and blood rushed swiftly southward. He made no move to hide her effect on him. 

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t -”

“The truth, detective.” He stilled, meeting her eyes again.

“I don’t want to see you behind bars.”

The reveal had his hips push up against her of their own accord. He pulled her away just enough to not-so discreetly adjust, then kept his face turned to speak softly into her ear, no longer needing to look in the mirror to read her reactions.

“Do you think of me,” he asked, coaxing open the button on her trousers, “late at night, when you find your mind and fingers drifting?”

“Do you?” she asked. _Unsure. Untrusting. Doesn’t she know?_

He toyed with the top of the zipper. “Any and all of my fantasies continually return to you.” 

That gave her pause. “Yes.”

 _Bloody hell._ He pulled down her zipper and let a finger drift beneath, delicately feeling over the thin separation of her satin panties, and curled it ever so gently upward. Her back arched at the contact and nudged his cock against the crease of her ass, and he shut his eyes at the delicious sensation. “What do you imagine?” he asked, encouraging. She hesitated, but the minutia of movements following every light, teasing stroke spoke volumes. “Tell me," he purred.

Her mouth worked. He chanced a look to the mirror; she was still watching herself, as asked. “Nothing so crazy."

“I could never think you boring, darling,” he urged. Her small movements were doing more for him now than any bedmate had in weeks, maybe longer.

She gently directed his wrist to exactly where she liked, and rewarded him with a small gasp.

Okay. _Definitely_ longer.

“You, in my bed." She told him, fingers still wrapped gently around him, though he didn't need her guidance now. "Late. Your - that mouth."

God her panties were so warm and slick beneath his fingers, driving his imagination wild.

"And right before -” she gasped when he slid his hand beneath the fabric - “the sun comes up -” 

A gentle nudge and a finger slipped between her folds, opening her up deliciously.

“Lazy - mornings -”

“What else?” he prompted. He placed a soft kiss on her neck, keeping his movements maddeningly slow and deliberate, driving him just as crazy with the feeling, but he needed to know. He needed to know all of it. “What else.”

“Your apartment. The couch like - stupid teenagers -” He offered her more pressure and a slightly quickening pace. She bit her lip. “The kitchen counter - in a dark corner - at Lux -”

Lucifer desperately attempted to file all those away for later, but found himself wrapped up in her own fantasies so quickly and thoroughly that his hips pushed against her, his cock desperately seeking any friction.

“The evidence lock up -”

He adjusted his angle and pushed two fingers into her, unable to keep from watching her reaction. With the trousers it was a tight fit, and while he would have been more than happy to rip them off there was no way he was going to stop what he was doing. Chloe gripped his thigh, her lips parted and eyes searching while he did what he could to keep a steady, growing, pace. She pushed and dragged against him more deliberately now, her heels making it easy and making his heartbeat pulse thickly below, and though it could be very busy elsewhere, Lucifer kept his other hand firmly on her stomach to keep her grounded. What a sight she made: pale, lean and yet dark, burning red topped with fiery gold, a slip of hellfire in his arms.

“I think of you when I wake,” Lucifer said, brushing his nose against her ear, placing a small kiss in the small spot beneath it without ever letting up. She was tight around his fingers, hot and slick, and he needed the distraction speaking would bring. “I think of you in the shower. It’s embarrassing, really, how much time I already take in there -” Vague alarm bells began ringing in the back of his mind at divulging too much information, but he was too far involved with her to pay them any mind. She let out a small noise, nearly a whine, and that told him he was on the right path. “I think of what you might like for breakfast, and when the phone rings, and when I go downstairs - I think of you at Lux, sneaking up on me again in a dress like that -” He quickened his pace, pulling his fingers up as well as out, and she let out a small, breathy moan that nearly brought him to the edge like some two-pump chump (he'd like to think of himself as attuned to his bedmates' pleasure, but with Chloe it was like she was living inside him, she was so close) “when I’m driving, when I’m speaking to someone, in the elevator - God, Chloe -” he shut his eyes, going deeper, harder, nearly pulling her into his lap - _fuck_ she was so ready and wet for him - “I can’t _stop_ thinking about you, I’ve tried, I’ve tried to drown it out with booze, with other people, with distractions -” 

She managed to slip a hand behind her and between them and gripped onto his cock, and even through two layers of fabric the relief was so palpable that he moaned into her ear - what _was_ she doing to him, it must be some kind of cosmic joke to affect him so badly. She stroked him alongside their movements, and just that little extra bit of pressure was enough to make him desperate for more.

“I want you, Chloe,” he told her, speaking velvety soft into the shell of her ear, the tables had turned and he hadn't even realized, he was too busy swimming in the feel of her close, _too close,_ “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” _too fast_ , driven by the need both to come and make it last, “there’s never been anyone like you - smart, beautiful, yes, but also convicted, kind - and so - _truly_ good -”

 _“Lucifer,”_ she gasped, and what a thrill it was to know _that’s_ what she sounded like just before she came, even though he was sure she was keeping quiet to stay in their own private hiding spot. He pressed her more firmly to him, stilling her hand and trapping it between them but not caring, needing her closer. _“Please -”_ she gasped. 

"Come for me, detective," he urged, fingers pumping relentlessly. "Let me see you come - hear you - _fuck_ Chloe - You feel so - ”

Suddenly her other hand reached up and gripped the back of his neck, and he held her wanton gaze in the mirror until she could no longer and her eyes rolled up before closing, her delicious pink mouth falling open in sweet rapture - the closest to Heaven he'd ever get - and he held her tightly as she shook, almost soundless, not stopping until her hand reached down and forced him to still. He kept himself there in her warmth, caressing, bringing her gently down, belatedly realizing that the high he was feeling was not from coming himself but simply from making her, leaving him terribly hard and aching inside his own trousers.

They locked eyes in the mirror, both breathing hard. She gave him an experimental squeeze, and though he knew she was watching him carefully, he didn’t care - he buried his face into her neck and groaned, shameless, too far gone to compose himself. She tugged at his wrist and he extracted his hand, missing the feel of her immediately, but there was no time to think of that before she whirled around and tightened her hold on him. A finger beneath his chin got his attention, as did her quick, teasing strokes, doing little more than palming him through his trousers but he was so sensitive that it was maddening. She barely held herself upright, content with leaning against him.

“Look at me,” she demanded, and the tone of her voice made him shiver and tighten. He did as she asked. “There will be no me coming over to your side. I will not screw up my moral compass for good sex.” In a hurried motion, she swiftly undid his belt and trousers, making him grip onto the edge of the counter for dear life. Without any hesitation she freed him and pulled her flush to him until the head of his cock was brushing up against the silk of her white shirt, smearing wet precome beside an opalescent button. She didn’t bother to look down, keeping her eyes fixed on his, but he did, and his gaze flickered between that, her eyes, that her sinful cupid’s bow and plush, pink lower lip, his own mouth fallen open. “You may think you’re king of the universe, but I have no interest in being queen.” Her hand sped up. His knuckles were white. “The only way you’re going to be able to stay in my world is if I allow it. If I deem you worthy of it. Don’t come.” 

She must have read the look on his face. He jolted into her hand at the command and tried to steady himself. She made no move to make it easy on him.

“I know you use the Devil as an excuse to be bad, because you wouldn’t be so attracted to goodness if it weren’t already inside you. Deep, maybe,” she slid her thumb over his slit, making him gasp, “beaten out of you, probably. But still there.” She gave him a brief reprieve, her touch turning feather-light along his length, but it only served to bring him that much closer to the edge. “Do you want me to make you come?” she asked, none of the shyness he’d come to expect from her, none of the hesitation. Conversational, like, _do you want eggs or toast for breakfast?_ He'd never be able to hear her ask a question without his cock stirring again.

This Chloe - this was the one who sparked a measure of fear in him, if she were to ever want to take him down - God, he’d let her - “Yes, please, yes.”

She dragged a knuckle slowly up the underside before pushing him through her fist again, slick from already making a mess of himself. She gave a couple of long, slow strokes, nearly causing him to whine, but he managed to catch that embarrassing sound just before it escaped. “If you want me, Lucifer, then you have to want the whole package. The long, shitty hours. The police. The kid. Monopoly nights and taco Tuesdays and the ex husband and my crazy mom.”

To his surprise, he found himself fervently nodding.

“I won’t settle for anything less.” 

_Fuck_ he was so fucking close - he was going to make a mess of her beautiful shirt - "Yes." 

“Yes?” she confirmed.

“Yes,” he breathed.

She touched her forehead to his, and that little bit of contact made him let go of the counter and grip her hips. “Are you sure?” she asked, voice wavering.

“Please, yes,” he begged. “All of it, I want all of it, detective, _Chloe_ , please -”

Her breath was hot against his lips, yet they did not touch. Her hand sped and tightened, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold back for any longer. "Lucifer," she whispered. She touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. “You're so beautiful like this. Come for me.”

His body shook with her permission and he spilled over her hand and onto her shirt, sweet blissful shuddering release until he felt like his whole sense of self was pulsing out of him, leaving him dizzy and spent. She coaxed him through it, slowing as he grew more sensitive. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, one hand splayed flat over the small of her back and the other - he hadn’t realized - still somewhat massaging her ass, and let her care for him. Though terribly dirty and somewhat uncomfortable, he couldn’t bring himself to mind as the post-orgasmic haze actually lingered instead of dissipating as quickly as smoke. He hadn’t felt so relaxed, so cared for in - well - ever. Before he knew it she had him back inside his pants and all zipped up, and her movements suggested she was righting her own clothing as well. He stayed as he was, eyes closed, boneless, nose buried in her hair.

“Did you mean it?” she whispered.

He waited for any tendril of doubt to make itself known, but it did not. He smiled, and wrapped his arms around her more fully. She was still somewhat stiff, waiting. “I have never lied to you, and I will never lie to you.”

The truth had never been so liberating.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song described below is "Laura" by Bat for Lashes.

Chloe had honestly thought she was a better actor. She’d let nothing slip at work about her and Lucifer. Obviously she wasn’t going to tell her _ex_ that she and the man who tied him up to stew in his own (frankly deserving) juices had a little well-dressed fun with his former wife before Lucifer dropped her off at the end of the night with a goodnight kiss on the cheek, a shy touch to the bottom of her jacket, and a promise to pay for dry cleaning (making her wish the porch would turn into a bottomless pit and suck her into it). Their real lives had gotten in the way of seeing one another the last two days, though it didn’t keep them from texting, and if Trixie could tell something had changed then she should have known that trained forensic pathologists would probably be able to suss out that something was up, too.

Which is why Chloe was going to Lux tonight with Ella and a few familiar faces to “celebrate,” though she made Ella tell everyone the occasion was _not_ about her hooking up with Lucifer (they only came just the one - _the one time_ ) but her friend Linda’s birthday, whom Chloe had not yet met. 

At least Pierce, thankfully, was about as insightful as a brick. When he called her into his office - a sharp “Decker!” ringing throughout the precinct - she really hoped it wasn’t because a new body had dropped, because she may have actually been looking forward to seeing Lucifer in his own element again. 

And maybe surprising him.

In a certain dress she had in mind.

“What’s up, Lieutenant?” she asked, shutting the door behind her and taking front and center stage, though it felt more like an auction block. She hadn’t really spoken to him - and certainly not alone - since she and Lucifer had learned that he not only knew about Herrera, but also wanted them to do something about it. Figuring he had his hands tied by the endless red tape bureaucratic police work always seemed strangled by, she let it go.

“Herrera demanded I suspend you for false allegations.”

Chloe steeled herself. 

“I’d say you’re onto something, Decker.”

She breathed in relief. “He may be behind the shooter that wounded me in an assassination attempt against Lucifer.”

“Good,” he said, nodding to himself. “I like it.”

“You…?”

“You’ve done good work. Dig into Talbert. Find out what could have persuaded him.” She was already thinking the same thing, and bade him a quick goodbye - but he stopped her. “You know he’s not going anywhere, right?”

“Herrera?”

“Talbert.” Pierce leaned back in his seat, rocking a little. “So what’s Lucifer up to?”

She wasn’t sure she liked his faux-conversational tone. He was much better at being the boss than being anybody’s friend. Still, Lucifer's comment about Pierce being in the closet gave Chloe a little pause at the ask. Was he interested? “Why?”

He chuckled. “He’s still a criminal, Decker. A lot of his connections lead to _other_ criminals. People that should be taken off the streets. You should be compiling evidence.” 

“Right,” she breathed. “Except I don’t think -”

“Where’s he gonna be tonight? Do you know?”

“Um, Lux is my best guess. Actually a couple of us were going to go there after work - have a few drinks, you know, no big if you’d like to, um. Join us?”

He looked as though she’d suggested he eat live rattlesnakes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Right - of course! It’s just, you know, no big deal. I’m sure Lucifer doesn’t have any _nefarious_ plans or whatever happening… tonight. Just drinks.”

He waited for her to finish. “Okay. Well have fun. And remember -”

“Evidence, yep - got it,” she said, hurrying out. 

_Evidence?_

 

Strange how Lux had become familiar. Not quite the second skin it was for Lucifer, and nothing she felt particularly at home in - much preferring her own space that wasn’t filled with the scantily clad and moderately intoxicated - yet each time she descended into its dark and inviting depths she had to admit it grew on her. Of course it helped that she was accompanied by Ella and her gang, having met them out front at just the right time and who all thought it just so neat that the bouncer knew Chloe and let them to the front of the line with no questions asked. She quickly learned Linda - blonde, glasses, in white and older than them, though she hardly showed it - met Ella during a case, the victim being one of her clients, and quickly clarified at Chloe’s confused look that she was a therapist. 

They reached the stairs and slowly the sound of music grew. It certainly wasn’t unusual for the club to hold live performances, but as Chloe’s gaze drifted around the room to find Lucifer she had to prevent what was sure to have been a beaming smile from crossing her face. He was at the piano, as promised. It had been moved to the center of the floor, and he was accompanying Delilah as she slowly made her way around it, singing into the old-fashioned microphone in hand. Chloe had given little thought to how the young woman’s singing voice may sound, and found herself mesmerized by its indolent charm. The melody Lucifer played was simple, soft and clean and surely far beneath his skills, keeping all the focus on her melancholic melody.

 _You say that they’ve all left you behind. Your heart broke when the party died,_ she sang with a sorrow that only youth could bring; a lament for growing up. _Drape your arms around me and softly say: can we dance upon the tables again?_

Her spaghetti-strap dress flowed over her body like silver chainmail over a thin black fabric that hugged her curves, and she exuded warmth and comfort, but not closeness. Chloe had been around enough rising stars to be able to see the difference between a wanna-be and the real thing, and Delilah? Delilah had all the markings of someone who could go all the way to the top.

 _When your smile is so wide and your heels are so high, you can’t cry. Put your glad rags on and let’s sing along to that lonely song,_ she continued, building in intensity. _You’re the train that crashed my heart. You’re the glitter in the dark - oh, Laura. You’re more than a superstar_. Chloe descended the stairs with the other women and slowly made their way over to the bar, where it seemed like everyone in the club had their rapt attention on the young singer. Chloe wondered if they would remember this moment if she were to get big - the moment a star was born. _You’ll be famous for longer than them. Your name’s tattooed on every boys skin, oh, Laura, you’re more than a superstar._

Pierce wanted evidence - well, here it was. This was the kind of thing Lucifer did. The deals, the favors - they were to help people get what they wanted. If what they wanted wasn’t above board, he didn’t judge, he merely created an avenue of supply. Could he really be blamed for the desires of others? Wouldn’t they have simply sought such findings elsewhere, anyway? 

Was she being incredibly naive? I mean, she and Herrera and Pierce were all still talking about the same guy, right? She couldn’t reconcile the man in front of her with the criminal overlord Herrera made him out to be, and Pierce - well, she couldn’t suss out Pierce’s perception of Lucifer, other than perhaps a pain in his ass he’d rather be rid of. Maybe it was because she knew he was working his way out, though she didn’t know the extent of what that meant yet (she was building up to asking him, okay, some things just take a little extra time to figure out your footing), and they couldn’t see that he _wanted_ to be good, didn’t see the side of him that ached for freedom from shackles of his own making (his own words, via late-night text message). 

With the song finished, Ella ordered them all drinks - Chloe declined for the moment - and watched as surprisingly courteous admirers and well-wishers descended upon the piano in twos and threes, speaking to both Delilah and Lucifer equally and keeping him seated. A passing waitress dropped off a glass for him and took Delilah’s order before returning to the bar. 

Chloe stopped her. “I’ll have the same as what she’s having,” she told her, which turned out to be a Jack Rose. The other girls - Ella, Linda, Cas, and Sam - all received their drinks at the same time, and though there was some confusion about who ordered what they all grabbed their glasses and made their way deeper inside the club, the rest veering off to an open booth while Chloe stayed alongside the waitress before slipping beside Lucifer’s smiling form on the bench. 

“Hi,” she said. If she startled him he didn’t show it. 

“Detective,” he said, grin widening. “Were you able to catch Delilah’s performance?”

“We came in during the last song,” she told him, then turned to the woman herself. “You were amazing. Seriously.”

Delilah thanked her profusely before her attention was dragged to someone else, leaving Lucifer and her alone in his little bubble. “You said ‘we,’” he noted.

Chloe glanced around, then pointed over at Ella nearby, who waved as she sucked on the straw in her daiquiri. Lucifer chuckled, charmed, and Chloe looked back.

He studied her face before his gaze fell to her dress. Remembering how he’d enjoyed the red of her suit, she stuck with the same, if brighter, color for now: a halter that highlighted her shoulders, held together with thin straps criss-crossing over her back, and falling just at the mid-thigh (and apparently scandalous enough that when Ella saw her she cried out _whoa, mama!_ which, admittedly, felt pretty good.) “We should go upstairs.”

Chloe cracked a smile. “My friends are here. It’s be rude to leave them so soon.”

“Oh, terribly rude,” Lucifer agreed. “The night’s just begun and I have a ton of responsibilities down here. Let’s do it anyway.”

She opened her mouth to respond when a sudden crash stopped her; searching for the source she discovered her friends panicked and Ella standing up, one hand around her throat and the other reaching over her drink, the glass shattered and its contents spilled. Chloe was up in a flash to help get her out, with Sam on one side and Linda on the other, while Lucifer barked out orders behind her to get help, and Ella was able to breathe just enough to indicate the source of her distress: the drink.

“It looks like anaphylaxis,” said Linda, surprising Chloe with her cool-headedness, though she had introduced herself as a therapist, hadn’t she? Didn’t they have to go to medical school? “Are you allergic to anything?”

Ella could do little more than shake her head, both hands around her throat, her face swelling and a vein popping out on her forehead with the strain. 

“Lucky for you I am,” Linda quickly said. Chloe grabbed Ella while Linda reached for her clutch and produced a bright yellow EpiPen, not bothering to apologize before flicking open the top and plunging it straight into Ella’s thigh. “Bees.” She laughed. Nervous jitters, but it seemed to help Ella remain somewhat calm. They all watched Ella’s face carefully for any sign of change. Though her eyes were still wide, their blood vessels near bursting, she didn’t appear to be getting any worse at least; another minute and she calmed enough to sit while someone else - the waitress - assured them that 911 had been called and an ambulance was on its way. Chloe reached for Lucifer, only to find him missing.

A commotion by the stairs grabbed her attention. Maze manhandled a man up each step, more difficult given his struggling; she had one arm yanked behind his back and every time he tried to get out of it she slammed him into the railing, nearly toppling him over toward the top. Lucifer was moving others out of the way with a smile and an outstretched arm, but his movements were tense and even from across the room she could see a murderous gleam in his eyes. 

“You’re sure you’re not allergic to anything? Anything at all that you can possibly think of?” Chloe questioned, not liking the way the scene was coming together. 

Ella, still concentrating on her breathing and deathly pale, shook her head and squeaked out a “nothing” before trying to smile. “Lucky,” she added, then coughed, tight.

Linda was the one to notice - she should’ve guessed. “Go,” she told Chloe quietly. “We’ll make sure she gets to the hospital alright.”

Chloe confirmed with the others. Sam promised to text an update later. She steeled herself and, with a last reassuring nod to Ella, hurriedly made to follow the disappearing duo.

By the time the elevator arrived at the penthouse Maze already had the man dangling by a pair of handcuffs hung from a sturdy looking strap embedded in the ceiling - Chloe didn’t even _want_ to know what that was for - between the living area and the library, his arms stretched to their limit and struggling to steady himself on his tiptoes. She didn’t recognize him, even just as a face in the crowd, but wasn’t surprised, as she hadn’t exactly been looking around. He was mid-thirties, maybe, average height and build, white, clean shaven and dark-haired. Inconspicuous. Dressed nice enough to blend in with blacks slacks and jacket. 

Maze punched him hard in the gut. He would have doubled over if he could.

“Maze!” Chloe called out, stepping out from the elevator and swiftly making her way out. 

Maze spun around at the intrusion. “What?” she barked.

Lucifer appeared from behind her, coming from the bar. If she didn’t know him she would’ve said he looked calm - especially compared to Maze - but what it was, really, was expertly hidden rage. “Yes?”

“What’s going on,” she asked him, quietly. Maze punched the man again. He groaned. “You think it was intentional.”

“Oh, I _know_ it was intentional,” he said, smooth as ice, then took a sip from his bourbon, neat. “What I want to know is who was the intended target.” He raised his voice, getting Maze’s brief attention, who circled her prey with all the grace of a leopard. “Poisoning is such a pansy’s way to murder someone.”

Maze ran her tongue over her teeth, coming around the back of the dangling man and eyeing him hungrily. She grabbed him roughly by the torso, yanked him down hard until he cried out, then spun him around and laughed. 

Chloe watched Lucifer’s reaction. His nostrils flared; the corner of his mouth ticked in a smile, hidden briefly behind the glass as he lifted it to his lips, his eyes never leaving their target. “This isn’t right,” she said, warily. They paid her no mind. Lucifer stepped forward; she stopped him, squeezing his arm. “There are other ways of getting information.” 

“And if Miss Lopez were still to die? Or someone else - a stranger? Would your tune be different then?” He was beginning to lose his cool. “What if it wasn’t a poisoning? What if it were a stabbing or a drive by shooting? What if a man entered your home and put a gun to the back of your head? Would it matter _how_ you found out who is behind the attempt on you life? Or the lives of people under your protection? What if it was you, detective? _What if it was meant to be you?_ ”

She set her jaw and waited for him to finish. Her heart pound in her chest at the thought, but she dealt with death every day, including the possibility of her own. Beyond her, Maze continued to taunt and tease the man, her susurrus voice barely making it across the room. “Let me talk to him.”

His gaze flickered over her, debating. 

“So am I getting my knives or what?” Maze demanded. 

Lucifer raised a finger, silencing her, then gave Chloe a small nod. “Maze,” he called. 

She grabbed the man’s face, looked deep into his eyes, then shoved it away and marched past Chloe on her way to the bar. 

Chloe stayed well beyond kicking distance of the man, and waited until he made eye contact. “My name is Chloe Decker. I'm a detective with the L.A.P.D. and I'd like for you to answer a couple of questions.”

He snorted, slowly turning. “You don’t look like a cop.”

“Don't let the shapely legs fool you,” Lucifer called from across the room.

Chloe ignored it. “What's your name?” 

He didn't care to respond, only catching himself at the last second to make sure he was still somewhat facing in her direction. 

“Listen to me. This isn't some good cop, bad cop routine. If I leave this room I have no say in what they do to you. So I suggest you cooperate with me, now, while you're still under your own volition. Understand?” 

He appeared to. “Call me Skade.” It was Lucifer's turn to snort, then. 

“Why do they think you poisoned someone, Skade.”

“You're pretty, you know that? Too pretty to be a cop. Even a nice one.”

“Detective,” said Lucifer, frustrated.

“I am giving you one chance.”

Skade sucked on his teeth then spit out a bit of blood, much to Lucifer’s increasing frustration and Maze's delight. “You’d have made a pretty corpse.”

In a flash Lucifer was beside her, his hand around the other man's throat. Skade choked with the sudden force, eyes going wide. “Who sent you!” 

“Lucifer!”

“Was it my father?” he asked. “The bratva? The Abergil's? Who!”

To her - and apparently Lucifer's - surprise, the man smiled, twisted and grotesque with his ever-bluing face. Lucifer released him. He coughed, then sing-songed “Somebody's got daddy issues.”

Lucifer went for the throat again, and Chloe wasn't fast enough to stop him. Skade made a horrible gurgling sound, like someone drowning, cutting off only when Lucifer increased the pressure. 

“Lucifer, you're going to kill him. Lucifer!” She finally forced him off, then pushed him back and stepped between them. “This isn't how we do this!”

“Well this is how I do this, detective, so you better bloody well get used to it!” He looked past her. “Tell me who sent you, or I swear to God -”

“The Sinnerman,” Skade replied, taking in a deep, heaving breath.

“The what?” Chloe asked, while Maze laughed and Lucifer eyes burned with fury.

Skade hacked out a cough. “Yeah, Sinnerman don't really like the operation you're running, buddy. Too many loose parts.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Maze demanded.

“Means you going after the bratva was a bad move,” he struggled to say, before coughing and trying to right himself. “They had a good thing going. Killing the boss - whew. He. Was. Pissed.”

“The Sinnerman isn’t real,” Lucifer said, stepping forward threateningly; Chloe met him where he stood, keeping them apart. _Keep him talking,_ she silently urged Lucifer, but he was probably too far gone to notice. “Some fairy tale to keep criminals awake in bed at night. I won't hear this drivel.”

“It’s nothing personal, babe,” he said. “Just can't have you and your girlfriend working together.”

“And you're telling us all this because…?” Maze asked, coming dangerously close. She circled around behind him once again. “Think I'll make it easier on you?”

Skade's vindictive smile faded. “Nah. I'm just pretty much dead already. He doesn't like failures.”

“Who does?” Lucifer almost looked sympathetic. “Maze.”

“On it.” She was already disappearing into the other room.

“What are you doing?”

Lucifer dragged his eyes from Skade to her. “First, we're going to find out who his boss actually is, and if he's still alive by the end of it,” his focus returned to the man, “then I suppose I'll have to send a message.”

 _I'll have to kill him._

That she couldn't have.

“This isn't you,” Chloe urged softly, a gentle hand on his stomach forcing the roiling within him to focus.

“Isn't it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I know that you think you're evil, or the Devil, but that's not _who you really are._ Lucifer. Let's take him to the station. We can learn more there. Fingerprints. _Real_ identity. Connections. Stuff he won't even know we have. We can contact the hospital, learn what he used, trace it back.” She was getting through to him, she could see it. “There doesn't need to be any more bloodshed. Don't be this man.”

Maze, naturally, chose the moment Lucifer was most wavering to return, brandishing a black duffel bag over her shoulder and twirling a curved blade expertly, her red nails and lipstick looking uncomfortably like blood. “So what'll be first? Teeth, fingers, knees, or toes?”

Chloe stared at Lucifer. She wouldn't beg. She just hoped he would make the right decision.

He said nothing.

“Trust me,” she implored. “I won't let him get away with it.”

Nothing.

Then.

A nod. Almost imperceptible, but there. She breathed in relief. “Get him down.”

“Are you serious?” asked Maze, letting the duffel drop to the floor with a heavy thump, its insides metallic and jangling. 

“I said take him down, Mazikeen,” Lucifer said, his voice more gentle than Chloe would have anticipated. He let out a shaky breath, and she knew that the trust he was offering was tentative - but it was there. It was _real._

 

Lucifer and Maze managed to get the man to the precinct a short while ahead of her - Chloe stopped home to change quick and let Dan know what was going on - and when she arrived she was told Skade was waiting in interrogation. A text message from Sam reassured Chloe that Ella was being treated, and another from Linda told her more specifics, including that the doctors weren’t sure what caused it but their best “medical professional” guess was it was a reaction to some sort of insect venom.

Quite a _large_ dosage, she added.

The lateness of the hour prevented the precinct from being overly busy. Aside from a few lit desk lamps, the detective’s area was mostly abandoned; a few desk sergeants were on duty monitoring phone lines with as much enthusiasm as the job called for while more uniforms and staff were out of sight elsewhere in the building. The overpowering antiseptic scent of whatever cleaning product they used on the floors overnight lingered, and the plexiglas separating the areas was clear and nearly sparkling. Lucifer was pacing outside the door to the viewing room when she descended the stairs, fighting the strange sense of vertigo that accompanied coming into the office when she should, really, be at home sleeping. His uniformed escort guarded the door to interrogation. Maze was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best. 

“Hey,” she addressed the uniform first. “Were you able to process him?”

Before he could answer, Lucifer spoke. “They won’t let me in.”

Chloe finished crossing the room. “I know. You’re not a cop.” She held back a smile on the look on his face. “What? It’s got to have some privileges.”

“Fine. May we begin now?” he asked, sweeping a hand toward the door. She dismissed the uniform and they entered.

Only to find Herrera, waiting.

And no Skade.

Another officer closed the door behind them, then returned to stand against the wall. 

“What is this?” Chloe asked. “Where’s my suspect?”

“In holding. I heard about the call. Was it difficult to bring him here?”

Herrera wasn’t talking about Skade. Lucifer stiffened beside her. “Excuse me?”

“I guess not. Good work, Decker.”

She was becoming more alarmed. “For what? Why aren’t you speaking to Skade? He attempted murder tonight - to murder _me_. I want him here, now, before he lawyers up.”

“They’ll be plenty of time to deal with him. Jones, if you could,” he addressed the young officer, who took out his handcuffs and moved behind Lucifer. “Lucifer Morningstar, you are under arrest.”

Chloe burned with swiftly building rage, while beside her Lucifer remained as still and silent as a statue. “For what?” she demanded. “Where’s your warrant?”

“On my desk,” Herrera answered easily. “And, oh, for a whole laundry list of charges - though I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

The metal teeth of the cuffs swiftly tumbled over one another, tightening. "Without -" 

“The list you brought me was a great starting point, and gave me enough leverage to really turn up the heat on a couple of guys, along with all of the other information you’ve been supplying. So thank you for that.”

 _What other information?_ “That’s not what this was supposed to be,” said Chloe, turning between them. She wouldn’t let a feeling of helplessness take over, not tonight. “He’s done nothing -” she turned to Lucifer - “you’ve done nothing wrong, here, I don’t know what’s going on but I will fix this. Don't say anything.”

The look on his face gave her pause. It was wistful, almost as though he were reminiscing, and there was a smile on his lips, but his eyes - his eyes were drowning in black and sunken depths. He swallowed thickly. “Thank you, detective.”

It wasn’t for her promise to fix things. “For?”

The officer held onto Lucifer’s elbow and started him toward the door. “You’ve just reminded me of a truth I’d nearly forgotten.”

He was led out the door with Herrera soon to follow. “That was dirty,” she spat. 

He shrugged. “But not, _not_ the truth, right, detective?”

Then he left her in the room, alone.

*

“I don’t like this,” said Maze, standing beside Pierce in the viewing room. “He definitely won’t leave L.A. now. Not while Herrera's breathing. _Dick._ Everything was going perfectly fine until he couldn't leave well enough alone.”

“I don’t know,” Pierce disagreed. “I don’t think Lucifer thinks Decker’s on his side anymore. Anyway. Point is: the arrest is going to give you the couple of days you need to finalize things. When he gets out, push this Lux Vegas business you were telling me about. Make it seem like the better option to move along rather than stay where he’s got no friends. Starting over can be very... cleansing.” He crossed his arms, watching Chloe leave. “Though I do agree. Killing her would have been the easier option."

“Yeah. Listen. I need you to promise me -”

“See now that’s just it. You need me.” He towered over her, yet Maze held her ground, completely unintimidated. “You’re no boss, and I would know. You’ve got the muscle but not the brains, though I do like the way you’ve been able to keep your little operation under wraps. You’ve got stealth, I’ll admit it. But you need more than that. A manager. A handler.”

“Really don’t.”

“Don’t posture with me, Maze, it won’t achieve anything. Take some free advice, alright? You’re good at keeping soldiers in line. A real boots on the ground kind of gal. But when it comes to big picture, like how to keep Lucifer in check, you fall short. It’s not a put-down: it’s important to know your weaknesses. So be smart about your next couple of moves, and I’m sure we could have some great collaborations in the future.” He leaned close. “But don’t you ever think you won’t need me.”

Maze ground her teeth together, then whirled around and stormed out. This isn’t how this was supposed to go _at all._


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn’t the first night Lucifer had spent behind bars. As far as holding cells went, he’d rank this precinct’s somewhere above the one in Brighton and below the one in Nice where the arresting officer, after realizing who he was, shared a smuggled bottle of wine with him while waiting for the paperwork to finish going through (and by that he meant mysteriously disappearing). He made himself comfortable in the corner where he could stretch out his long legs on the bench while resting back, then crossed his arms and shut his eyes. With the phone call finished, all he could do now was wait.

Contrary to popular belief, Lucifer could be patient. Most of his life he felt was spent waiting for rare moments of escape, of reprieve - from the isolation, the need to keep all things hidden at all times, and the never-ending duties that no one but himself was making him fulfill. And for what? For whom?

Lucifer really was no boss, anymore. Years spent climbing to the top - and before that, doing the Family’s bidding, staying within their sphere of influence - trying to impress someone who didn’t care because all Lucifer really wanted to do was finally, _finally_ be good enough, strong enough, clever enough, crafty enough to just - stop. To just stop all of this. To just be, for once, to live life as he saw fit, to no longer have a title he was beholden to. He’d come to L.A. to be near the one other person who got out of the life, only to find himself unable to live as she did. No, he just _had_ to start the deals again, the favors, but only for the time being, right? No. It were as though baked into his very essence, this scheming. It had initially been only to get a foothold, to make some connections, some money, and it was all supposed to be temporary. That’s why he opened up Lux in the first place. Not just as a place where people could gather or find him but as somewhere to finally let go of it all, to relax. A legitimate business venture with no strings attached.

So what happened?

He snorted. He’d finally gotten what he’d always desired, hadn’t he? To be treated same as everyone else. The concrete was cold against his back, a solid reminder of what that meant. Trapped by his own design. He should’ve realized earlier. It wasn’t possible for Lucifer to live as a normal human being. Not with his family. Not with his background. 

And he’d been a fool to think otherwise.

He’d been born into this mess, shaped and molded for the life since then. Charlotte hadn’t. Charlotte had a regular life before she met his father and could easily step into and out of their world because it was foreign to her. She was separate in the ways that mattered. Perhaps it was as simple as the familial link to his father that made Lucifer unable to ever truly distance himself from the man. No matter where Lucifer went, no matter how far he ran or how much he removed himself from the Family, he couldn’t change the one fundamental truth: he wasn’t like other people. He would never be like other people.

And yet.

He didn’t want to be that person. _The Devil._ He’d embraced it as a shield and it served him well, but deep down Lucifer knew what Chloe had seen. It wasn’t who he really was. But who was he without it?

 

Morning came. They placed him in a private room to wait and soon Charlotte arrived, harried but looking immaculate to the untrained eye. He didn’t get up from the seat to greet her, already able to sense the shift in the air: from the way she held her briefcase to the tight smile she gave him, it all read the same thing.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Lucifer,” she said, taking the seat across, “it’s not good. I don’t know how that rat bastard managed to accumulate so much information in such little time, but I’m telling you, he’s got stuff on you that he really shouldn’t.”

Lucifer nodded once to indicate he’d heard. He didn’t want to guess where Herrera had gotten the information. It hurt too much to think on it.

She sucked in a breath, then flashed him that million-watt smile. “But. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure given more time I could get some things thrown out, reduce the charges -” she eyed him as Lucifer slipped a hand into his jacket pocket - “talk to the judge - the one who signed the warrant is a… friend…”

Lucifer set the coin down flat on the table between them, and with a single finger, slid it silently over to her.

Charlotte stared at it, then at him. “A little jail time won’t kill you, Lucifer.”

He could almost smile: she cared. “I won’t be seen in an orange onesie.” _I'd rather die than be imprisoned._

With a quick check to the door, she swiftly took the coin and hid it from view. “You’re certain about this. You know what it means, and you only get the one.”

“I do.” Lucifer forced himself to look into her eyes, struggling to keep his features impassive. “Make the call.”

*

“I don’t know what you think I can do, Maze,” Chloe said, walking into the kitchen and leaving the other woman to fume alone in the middle of her living space. “I really don’t even know why you’ve come to me. Don’t you guys have, like, an army of lawyers? Or an actual army?”

“It’s not about that.” 

Chloe felt like the last good night of sleep she had was before the fundraising event. Somehow, letting Lucifer inside her - okay there was the _literal_ meaning as well but that was currently beside the point - inside her _head_ made it ache with too many circling thoughts. Still she took some ibuprofen, knowing it would do nothing but feeling better for trying anyway. “I only really have room for one cryptic person in my life right now. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

Maze nodded to herself like she was readying herself for battle. Chloe moved past her to sit on the armchair, daylight streaming through the windows way too cheerfully for her mood. At least Trixie was at school and didn’t have to witness the pain of her mother’s suspension. One week without pay shouldn’t have felt like this. It was merely to get her out of the way while they finished whatever investigation Herrera was spearheading. It could’ve been worse.

“Lucifer got it in his head that he wanted out. To go legit.”

Chloe waited for more. “Yes, I know.”

“Which, hey. Whatever floats your boat. I don't judge.” She hesitated. “But he didn’t just want out. He wanted all of it gone. To dismantle everything. Burn all bridges, cut all ties, scorch the earth tactics. Nothing for anyone to inherit. Just to burn everything to ash so someone else would have nothing to start with.”

 _Sounds noble._ Chloe pulled her legs comfortably beneath her. “Okay.”

“And that’s not -” she shifted her weight, uncomfortable - “that’s not what _I_ wanted. And usually I'd be fine causing some mayhem, but to let go of everything - all that power? And it’s not - it’s not my job to want things. I’m supposed to protect Lucifer. But I think I just made things worse. Stupid -” she crinkled her nose, disgusted - “ _emotions._ ”

“Worse how?” Chloe was glad for her patience. She couldn’t tell if it came from a lifetime of honing it or she was simply too beyond tired to want to rush anything right now.

“Worse by… not doing as Lucifer asked. Not all of it. Not letting all his people go. Not giving you all the names of the dirty cops. Not selling all his cars. Yada yada. I wanted to keep some things for myself. And why shouldn’t I? I worked just as hard - if not harder - to get them, to manage them, do you have any idea how complicated -”

“Maze. I get it.” Chloe relaxed. “Really. I can’t say that it’s okay, but. I get it. What does this have to do with Lucifer’s current situation?”

Maze made no sound when she moved. She slowly came until she was just in front of Chloe, then lowered with unusual grace to sit on the ottoman. Chloe would guess she was afraid, but she had no idea why. 

“I’m only going to say this once. I made a mistake. I went to the wrong person for help. I shouldn’t have needed it, but I did. I'm alone here, okay? And I thought it was a simple exchange of information, but he wanted more. Changed the game. He wanted you gone, or at least separate from Lucifer. Like, permanently. I think he must’ve thought you too good at your job, Decker. Too much a risk. You should take it as a compliment.” She smiled. Chloe didn’t. “So Lucifer ended up doing the one thing I wasn’t supposed to let him do.”

“Get imprisoned?”

“No.” She looked down. “Ask to go home.”

 

Chloe wasn't supposed to be back yet, not with her suspension still in effect. But she still had friends here willing to help her out - namely, surprisingly, Dan - and she didn’t care about the looks she got from others or the silence that accompanied them. Maybe they thought her one of them, now. Someone with shady morals. If only they knew.

“You want to run that by me again?” she asked the desk clerk at holding, who looked more frightened by the minute.

“The lieutenants already know,” he told her, probably hoping it will get her to leave him alone. He was new, as in straight out of the academy new, and scared for his career.

“And now you’re going to tell me.”

“Okay. Um,” he stammered, pushing up big round glasses before gesturing vaguely behind him. He was lanky in a way that did nothing to remind her of someone else. “There was a bomb threat. We had to evacuate the precinct. I-I-I followed protocol.”

“And you lost a prisoner?”

He was going to have to buck up - a lot - if he ever wanted to see the other side of a desk. “I lost a prisoner.”

Chloe inhaled the information, then turned on her heel and left, not having to strive to hard to look worried. It was, after all, all about appearances.

 

Lucifer wasn’t home. That much was to be expected. It was being watched - not day and night, they didn’t have the manpower for that - but police cruisers circled the building every so often, just enough to let its occupants know they were there, like sharks lazily drifting in the current and waiting for blood.

Chloe shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have risked it. But no one could stop her from going to the club, right? Even in the middle of the day. Still, she waited in her car until the cruiser passed before making her way inside, not bothering to look down into the empty space below and focusing instead on getting upstairs and in and out as quickly as possible. Maze hadn’t said much, but she’d said enough, and combined with what she'd learned at work, Chloe knew what she had to do.

*

How many times before had he done this? Never to such an extent, but running from the law - well, that was old hat. A fugitive. Again. Lucifer didn’t like hiding, ever, so he typically worked doubly hard to make sure he wasn’t caught. Unfortunately, sometimes factors outside of his control caught up with him. It was just the way the world worked.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t lay low in style.

He’d been in the process of selling off his multitudinous properties, but such endeavors took time - especially when certain hoops had to be avoided altogether, such as providence - so Lucifer wasn’t left without choice for his current hideout. He picked the one that felt the least like a prison, an airy Hills mansion that overlooked the city of Los Angeles, its forever burning lights like stars. No one but he and Maze knew of this place, and there was something to be said about the culture of privacy the far-too-rich shared. He was left well enough alone. Hell, he hadn't even seen a neighbor. After months - years - of almost never being alone, the silence of an empty house was like being lost in space.

Had he ever been anything but alone?

Maybe, once.

When Chloe rested her head on his shoulder, what felt like a lifetime ago. A simple touch able to satiate a longing better than anything else he'd ever tried. Just to be shown that he wasn't adrift, that he was rooted to a spot in space and time because she was the one holding him there. He had wanted to trust her. He did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Desire. Specifically, his. To - what? Be known? Be loved? To have someone see beyond the figurative horns and tell him the blood on his hands could be washed away?

He stood at the open balcony doors, letting the cool evening breeze chill him, an untouched glass of glenfiddich in hand, and wondered how he could have ever been so blind.

Or so weak. Because even now - _even now_ \- all he wanted was her. To Hell with the rest of it. 

The front door opened. There was no knock, and the heavy steps on the hardwood could only belong to one person.

“Brother,” Lucifer greeted cooly, finally forcing himself to take a sip of scotch, only to barely taste it.

“Luci.”

It was not the smug, insufferable tone he’d come to associate with his big bro. Usually Lucifer was left wondering how the man could manage to get through doorways with the self-righteousness he gathered around himself, probably feeling the need to compensate for his family's lack. But Lucifer needed more than that to learn why. He turned at the sound of his nickname, which was not one he was about to tell Chloe, already stuffed full of enough _I Love Lucy_ jabs to last a lifetime. (Though it was true that his parents never called him that.)

Amenadiel stood in the shadows, his suit a gunmetal gray with patterned navy accents. It hid the shape of the body armor beneath well, and only those looking for it may be able to see evidence of a concealed carry against his left ribs. 

“Come to collect me? Take me home to dear old Dad?”

“That is what you asked for, is it not?”

“Unfortunately.”

Instead of gloating, Amenadiel quietly moved over to the kitchen - clean, gleaming, unused - and flicked on a light.

“Oh, now you've gone and ruined the mood,” Lucifer chided. Amenadiel ignored him - typical - found a glass, and opened the fridge. “No, please. Make yourself at home.”

Upon seeing that Lucifer had exactly no food or other beverages, Amenadiel settled for water. The hiss of the tap was too loud in the silence. “I can't do as you ask.”

Lucifer had anticipated that, at least. “I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't want back in. I merely need -”

“That's exactly the problem, Luci!” 

Lucifer held up a hand. “Let me finish. I need to speak with Father to -”

“No.”

 _No._

“Just - information, then. I need to know how all this happened.”

Amenadiel stony expression could easily belong on Mt. Rushmore. “It happened because, as usual, you made a mistake. And though I would thoroughly enjoy telling you to fix it yourself, there are other factors at play.” He drained the glass then left it on the countertop as he came closer. “There are plans in place, Luci, plans already in motion. They leave me unable to return you home, though the reason behind that is your own doing. Your disobedience.”

Lucifer didn’t need a rehash, thank you very much. One mistake and you're punished for a lifetime. “Then why are you here?”

Amenadiel sighed. “It is only on Father's orders that I meddle in your affairs. I have come to set things right. With your…” he waved a hand in his general direction. “Many problems. With the police. You may not think so, but I respect the rule of law. So do not take what I am doing for you lightly.”

Lucifer couldn’t imagine how he could fix any of it. Even Charlotte looked doubtful, and she could probably take moving to a different universe with a sense of ease. “With, what? A magic eight ball? A bloody time machine? Divine ex machina? Even Dad doesn’t possess that kind of power.”

He could usually get a smile out of his brother by pretending to be an obstinate idiot. Not so much tonight. 

“You needn't worry about how. The point is, here is where you should stay.”

“Los Angeles?” Lucifer quickly swallowed back the rest of the drink. “I beg to differ.” He moved past Amenadiel to where the bottle sat open on an end table by the white, leather couch. “In the last few months I've been shot at, beaten, stabbed, had a gun put to my head _in my own home,_ had someone at my club nearly killed via poisoning and have been threatened with serious jail time. So I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound exceptionally enticing to me.”

Amenadiel listened to the rant and watched as Lucifer tossed back another drink before refilling. “Trust me, Luci. Please.”

Lucifer giggled, manic. “You know plenty of people have been asking me to do just that lately, and I have to say, it's not really working out.”

“How is your… Maze?” Amenadiel asked, reading beneath the surface.

“Mm- haven't you noticed?” Lucifer swept his glass around, all encompassing. “Decidedly elsewhere.”

“Demons,” Amenadiel agreed.

It made Lucifer smile, but then served only to remind him when Amenadiel left he would be well and truly alone. “What are you planning on doing, exactly? So I can make preparations, at least.”

“I… cannot.”

“I hate it when you're enigmatic. It doesn’t make you interesting, brother. It makes you dull.”

Amenadiel smiled. Lucifer took another drink, watching it fade. He was reluctant for their conversation to be over just like that, but his brother, it appeared, had more to say. And for once Lucifer was willing to listen.

“Are you happy here, Luci? Current circumstances aside. Your dealings, your partying. If it were to return. You would be content?”

He nearly choked on his drink. “Why on Earth are you asking me that?”

“Call me curious. Charlotte as well. Do you think her fulfilled?”

“Ah.” Lucifer understood. He folded himself into one of the armchairs. “Thinking of joining the reject club? Daddy cramping your style?”

Amenadiel remained as steady as a statue. “No,” he said, sternly. “It’s an academic inquiry. No one else has ever left before. And coming to Los Angeles, being as you are now, very much so may have saved your life. I wonder if you feel a sense of gratitude toward our Father for the gift he has given you. The release from the ties of who you were meant to be.”

Lucifer stared, open mouthed. “You can't be serious.”

Apparently he was.

“I make one mistake, to save _our sister's life_ -”

“You relied upon the enemy, Luci. Depended on them when you lost your faith in us. And look at where its gotten you. Tangled up in -” he paused, stopping himself from getting too upset. “Affairs.”

Lucifer laughed, but it was hollow. “We are all just tools to him, don't you see? Pawns. He cared about Rae exactly as much as she was worth to him, and you knew he wasn't going to go through the trouble of saving her if it meant losing more in the process! She wasn't even ever supposed to be there!” He was back on his feet in a flash. “Our father never did anything for me. _I_ got out. _I_ left. _I_ control what happens to me. Save your damn coin and your Hail Mary and your holier-than-thou attitude, brother, and shove it where the sun don't shine!”

Amenadiel tried to hide, valiantly, being stunned. Lucifer knew that face, however unfortunately, and could see the one thing he didn't expect to see in his brothers eyes. 

Fear.

He took in a deep breath. “I will clean up your mistakes.”

“I never asked for that.”

“No. It is what is necessary.”

Lucifer studied his brother's retreating figure. “Why do you want me to stay in L.A.?” he asked.

Amenadiel paused, turning around slowly. Lucifer attempted to school his face into something more impassive. “I do not understand the reasoning. Truly. But it has been requested.”

“I see our father lets you know the same as he ever did me. Zilch.”

There was a knock at the door, startling them both. 

“Expecting anyone?”

Lucifer shook his head. Amenadiel went to answer the door, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he went. He looked out the peephole, then opened it mid knock. 

“Oh!” came a feminine voice. “I'm sorry, I -”

Amenadiel opened the door wider, revealing Lucifer behind him. 

“Oh,” said Chloe again, understanding. “Are you-”

“Just leaving,” said Lucifer pointedly, giving Amenadiel a significant look. 

He ignored it, and offered Chloe a hand. She adjusted what she was carrying and took it. Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Nice to meet you. I'm Lucifer's brother. Amenadiel.”

Chloe looked between them with a questioning brow. “I didn't realize -”

“When I say _family_ -” began Lucifer, only to be distracted by Chloe's appreciative, wandering eye.

“- that your brother would be so -”

“ _Abruptly_ leaving?” Lucifer grabbed Amenadiel by the shoulders and manhandled him out the door, forcing Chloe and his jealousy aside. Theirs was decidedly not a relationship that needed cultivating. He hadn't ever wanted her to meet any of his family, above all Mr. High and Mighty. “Yes, terrible. Plane to catch and all that. Bye now.”

Unfortunately the movement left him on the front step beside the detective, so he tried to immediately rectify that by running away like the coward he was. He grabbed the door and began to close it. “Good evening, detective, thanks so much for stopping by and letting me know I’ve been compromised.”

He shut it - only to find a stylish boot blocking it from slamming. 

“Ow.” She forced it open the rest of the way, then pushed past him inside. “You’re not compromised. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Talking to Maze, I see?” he asked, whirling around to follow as he let the door shut behind her. She carried in a garment bag and three full paper bags of god knows what. “No idea where she may be, by the way?”

“Yeah, we’re not really close, Lucifer.” 

“Close enough she dismissed secret part of the secret hideout,” he grumbled.

Chloe set the bags down on the counter. “No. You get to be nice to me. I’m helping you.”

Lucifer eyed her curiously. “Do what, exactly?” 

She began unloading things - groceries, mostly, though a few odds and ends. Which would be terrifically appreciated, considering this place was only furnished enough for show, if Lucifer could get his head on straight. He tried to calm himself, but the detective standing there, moving and acting like this was her home, was so incongruous to what was actually happening it felt like looking into a funhouse mirror. 

She paused, setting down a half gallon of milk. “Lucifer. I know you’re innocent, and despite what Herrera said, I promise you I wasn’t helping him. I looked over the charges - I recognize a lot of them from other cases I was helping on during my desk duty. I don’t think Herrera realized I did some interdepartmental work at the time, trying to stay busy. He’s framing you. And I don’t intend to let him.”

Lucifer’s heart beat wildly in his chest. He knew liars and charlatans and fakes and when someone was bluffing, and all his years of experience told him she was telling the truth, that she had nothing to hide - that she had _always_ been telling the truth, that she had _always_ had nothing to hide - and his feet started to close the distance between them before he realized. She didn’t stop unloading one of the bags as she spoke.

“Which would be a heck of a lot easier if I weren’t currently suspended, but I figure I could - you -”

He took her face between his hands and gave her about half a second to react before kissing her.

It took her about half a second to kiss him back.

A can rolled off the counter and fell onto the linoleum. More things tumbled into the sink when Lucifer swept a space aside and lifted her onto the countertop. She broke away to laugh, only to have it get caught in her throat when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her dark jeans and pulled her closer, then moved to kiss down her deliciously exposed neck. Her legs wrapped around him, keeping him close, but her top half pulled away slightly. “Lucifer.” She touched her hands to his chest, pressing lightly. It was a no if there ever was one, but when she spoke there was a smile in her voice. “Lucifer, there’s frozen stuff.”

He made himself stop. The adrenaline of the last two days, the uncertainty, the feelings of betrayal and heartache, the visit from his brother and the confusion that followed - all the tension left him all at once, letting exhaustion take its place. He was so tired of it all far before any of this started, and since he did not know what was to come, he could not see an end in sight. Only more endless twists and turns ahead.

Lucifer rested his forehead against her shoulder. Her hands explored his chest, softly playing with the fabric of his shirt, and her legs relaxed down as not to cage him in. He would stay here forever if he could, trapped in this unending moment like an oasis in the desert. 

“Stay?” he asked, burning with embarrassment at how it sounded. 

“I will,” she whispered. “Can you?” 

“I don’t know. Apparently. For now.” He sighed. There was so much he didn’t understand, and being out of the loop? Not really his thing. If it meant his freedom he would do as asked. Even if it left a vile taste in his mouth.

She wrapped her arms around him then, gently carding her fingers through the hair at his nape. “Did you forget to trust me?”

Ashamed now, he nodded again. 

“A mistake you’ll make twice?”

He huffed and smiled, hidden. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Mm. Maybe a little. Hey.” She placed a hand on his cheek, and he pulled back. “We’ll get through this. The right way.”

He wanted to believe that. He really did. “I am not so certain of that,” he explained. “It’s in my brother’s hands. He may walk like he's got a stick up his arse, but he's still our fathers son, and I don’t know what he has planned. He won’t tell me. It was -” he didn’t like to admit it now, not with her in his arms, but he needed to be truthful - “I would have never relied upon their services if I thought - if I saw -”

Ah. So that’s what it felt like to be silenced with a kiss. Hers was gentler than his was, a tentative brushing of lips and the lightest of pressure before pulling away. “You should really help me put this stuff away,” she said, then smiled somewhat shyly as she made sure to look into his eyes. “Because I’m kind of done talking. If that’s okay with you.”

It was. It very much was. Still he couldn't help but want to tease her a little. “I thought you liked us talking. Such _stimulating_ conversations.”

She grinned, tugging on his lapel, then feigned seriousness. “Oh, _you_ can talk.”

“You sure?” he asked, eyes closing, brushing his nose against hers. Her legs wrapped back around him. “Wouldn't want to do something you don't desire.”

He felt her shake her head. “Lucifer.”

“Mm?”

“Shut up.”

“You're a very confusing woman, detective.”

She nipped his bottom lip. “Better get used to it.”

 _Do it again,_ begged his mind, chasing her grinning, retreating figure. His touch shifted to grip tightly onto her hips. “I’ve been told,” he drew out, reveling in her intake of breath as his fingers drifted beneath the back of her shirt, “that I’m quite good at letting my hands do the talking.”

“By who? Your many conquests?” she asked. It was teasing, but he could sense the uncertainty still lying beneath. After all this, did she still not see? 

“Conquests?” He reluctantly let up. “That implies conquering. A defeat of some kind. I assure you that’s never my aim.”

“What is, then?” she asked, trailing her fingers down his lapel. The movement was light but her eyes were serious. She hadn’t let go yet, which he took as a good sign. “To play?”

 _Of course._ He barely stopped the words from slipping from his mouth. He would love to play with her, in that play means action from which to derive pleasure. And pleasure is, after all, at the core of his business. But this - her - was so much more than that. “Is that what you fear, detective? That you are a mere plaything for me?”

She didn’t need to answer for him to know he was right. 

“Chloe,” he said, in too small a voice. Her gaze swept over his features, searching - for what? “There’s never been anyone like you.”

She looked down at her hands, something in her face tightening. But not in anger.

He found himself staring at her necklace. “I have reveled in sin, in darkness, in the world beneath the world for so long I can’t say now I don’t think I belong there. The life I’ve led almost got you killed, and every moment you’ve spent with me is testament to _your_ goodness, _your_ capacity for forgiveness, not mine. If anything my actions have made your life more complicated.” 

“Lucifer,” she began.

“No.” He must be adamant. In this above all things. “You are better without me. I represent all that is evil in your world, do I not? Answer me truthfully.”

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

“If you leave now -” her eyes snapped up - “I promise I will do the same. I’ll stop whatever my brother has planned because I’m sure it can’t be good. This isn’t a simple matter of losing paperwork or bribing a few officials. I haven’t been in this sort of trouble before. So. I’ll go on the run. I’ll disappear. You’ll never hear from me again. Your life can return to normal. You and your daughter can be safe from the repercussions of my past actions.”

Her jaw was set, stern, but to his surprise her eyes seemed to shift in the light. The blue - that ocean blue, that Heaven blue - became watery. He didn’t understand, but his heart clenched at the sight.

“And what happens if I stay?”

He didn’t think that was an option. As much he wanted her to, what could he offer her, really? He looked past her to the false stars twinkling outside. At one time that would have been what he desired: the entire city at his disposal, his own personal playground, a kingdom, a domain. But as he returned his gaze to her, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, he didn’t know when it had changed. Now he only wanted one thing. “Then I promise I will never allow anything to tear us apart.” 

Chloe took in a shaky breath, then pushed against him. He moved back so she could lower herself to the ground. She walked slowly to the middle of the living room, while he stayed perfectly still, more afraid than when someone last threatened his life. It was one thing to imagine having no future and another to see one within your grasp, only to have it slip away. Chloe crossed her arms, one hand touching her lips, and try as he might to read her he couldn’t with her facing away from him.

Twelve more steps and she’d be out the door and out of his life forever.

It would be the smartest move.

She had no idea the skeletons that lay in his closet. He’d never killed anyone - no one needed to know that, as perception took precedent, always - but he would kill for her. That was a frightening certainty. He’d barely had a taste of her yet that was all it took for him to realize he’d been starving. Starving for _years,_ for goodness, for light, for purpose. She didn’t deserve for someone to put that on her. But Lucifer knew he would give her everything and more if she let him. 

His breath came in shallow, barely-there pants. 

Her weight shifted. Thinking. 

He wasn’t worth it. 

He knew that.

Did she?

Silently, she turned around and came back. He watched, amazed, as she picked up the few things that had dropped and began putting them away in cupboards and in the refrigerator, as though nothing had happened at all. She gestured for a can of green beans beside him and he handed it to her, robotic. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered, reflexively. He watched her complete the task before she turned again to face him fully.

“Bathroom?” she asked, a package of toilet paper under her arm and a black toiletry bag - his - in hand.

He pointed.

She turned away. “Hey, Lucifer?” she called out, just before entering the hallway. “You should put some music on. This place is dead.”

Lucifer stared at the corner she disappeared around.

Then he found himself doing as asked, going to the stereo in the living room and putting something on some upbeat, soft techno thing. The shower started. He gave it a moment, but when it didn’t shut back off, something clicked into place inside him and he smiled, genuine, disbelieving, relieved.

He toed off his shoes and shucked off his jacket, tossing it to lay somewhere on the couch, then followed, unbuttoning his cuffs as he went.

 _How did I get here... ?_ sang a gentle, female voice again and again, overlapping with other, nearly nonsensical lyrics. _How did I get here..._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Hope you are as excited as I am! (Theres some definite NSFW bits in this chapter, you are warned)

Those who did not know often took one look at Amenadiel and assumed him a blunt instrument.

They were wrong.

He did have the physique of an enforcer, true. But one did not become the Favorite Son - _the_ most coveted position in all the Family - with brute force alone. Despite his slick suits, his carefully crafted vocabulary, and his tendency to say only what was necessary, Amenadiel was continuously underestimated in its wits and methodology, resulting in his becoming an opponent many did not see coming.

The only person smart enough to take him at more than face value sat across from him now, a laptop opened on his dining room table while Amenadiel wandered the room, looking over his collection of artifacts. He swirled the wine in his glass and brought it to his nose to sample the bouquet.

“I can’t do any more from here,” said Pierce.

“I know,” Amenadiel answered. “The rest is being taken care of as we speak.”

“I don’t want him in my city.”

Amenadiel chuckled. He could feel the waves of fury rolling off Pierce, even as he carefully shut the laptop and steeled his jaw to keep from saying something stupid. “I really couldn’t care less what you want. That is not the nature of our arrangement, Pierce. You were smart enough not to try and kill my brother, unlike your own, and for that we allow you some lenience.” He spied a particularly heavy looking rock, and weighed the merits of driving home his words with it. “You will leave Lucifer to us. He is not to be any of your concern.”

The chair screeched against hardwood as Pierce stood. “His business -”

“Is over.” Amenadiel squared his shoulders. “Haven’t you heard? My brother is retiring. You should not cross paths again.” He turned to leave. “Oh. One more thing. Chloe Decker is now under the protection of the Coelestis.”

“She’s mine,” growled Pierce. “You can’t do that. None of you are even here.”

Amenadiel grinned, amused. “Is that what you think?”

He laughed all the way down the stairs, out the door, and into the night.

 

*

 

The air steamed. The shower felt not only separate from the rest of the house, but lost somewhere in the mists of time: an eternal present. Lucifer couldn’t fathom how to be anywhere else but here, now. His fingers trailed over the bare, wet skin of Chloe’s back, diverting small rivulets of the pleasantly hot water that cascaded over them both from the showerhead above, like rain. The shower was large, certainly large enough for two, encased in glass and warm, natural stone. Chloe leaned back against him and he wrapped his arms around her. _Safe._ Light surrounded them, muted and warm.

She turned, tilting her face up to him like a flower to the sun, angled perfectly for a kiss. He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip, brain still somewhat lagging while the rest of him was already well ahead and eager. Had he wanted anyone so badly before? It wasn't about the chase or denial. This was more than that. Sweeter. Not in a forbidden fruit sort of way, which when achieved was always somewhat too ripe, sickly sweet. Chloe caught his thumb took it into her mouth. He pushed it further in, unable to help himself, his own mouth falling open at the sight. Perfect white teeth bit down playfully before switching to take two fingers and lightly suck. Little minx.

A brief thought: he must be dead. But he didn’t think he could go to heaven, which is what this must be, if it was anywhere. If it was real.

Chloe swirled her tongue, looking up at him with eyes half-lidded with desire, and it was enough to pull him from his dazed state. Far off the beat of the music picked up as the song shifted to sounding like late nights with friends, the lost years of youth, like running and freedom and lightness. In an easy movement Lucifer pushed her back against the wall and held her hands above her head, his lips hovering over her own while she interlaced their fingers and shivered despite the heat. A knee came up to brush against him. So many details he filed away, some part of him still believing this would be their only time. Why? She was here of her own free will, was she not? She wanted to be here. Wanted _him._ He’d barely touched her and was already harder than could reasonably be explained. What did this woman do to him?

He waited. Delicious agony. Lucifer wanted to line himself up and sink into her pretty wet cunt and take and take and take, but instead left feather-light kisses down the column of her neck, down and down, dragging their hands with him until he was able to take a breast into his mouth. She pushed back against the wall to steady herself, digging her nails into the back of his hands as he swirled his tongue around her, sucking lightly. Only then did he release her to cup the other, brushing a thumb over the nipple. Sensitive, judging by how she pushed her hips into his chest.

He lowered further, taking his sweet time to memorize the taste of her skin, kissing down to her belly button before looking up, meeting her eyes, the hot rain cascading down and over his back.

"Lucifer," she breathed, her hands smoothing back his hair in reassurance. "I want you."

He was hyperaware of her every breath, of the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, reading it like a book he was eager to devour. He rested his forehead against her lower belly, breathing her in before watching her face as he hitched her thigh over his shoulder. He took the time to explore her body, learning what she liked, what she needed. A finger pushed inside, then two. His thumb swirled lazily while he slid them in and out, then more intently, leaving her shaking until he couldn’t stand it and replaced it with his tongue. She bucked into him and - god - normally he'd work to gently keep a partner down, but with Chloe he couldn't imagine stifling her in any way, so he let her do as she liked. There was a thrill in being used, he had to admit. "Just there," she panted, _"fuck,_ Lucifer, _there -_ " The delicate feel of her on his tongue, her taste, the way her fingers gripped his shoulders when she grew closer and closer - he could stay here for _hours,_ listening, learning exactly how to make her fall apart. She was nearly there, her hips canting against him while a litany of small noises drove him to grip her ass and pull her closer - when she suddenly pushed back against the wall, breathing hard. He looked up to find her deliciously flushed.

"Want _you."_

Well, _that_ he could certainly oblige.

He shot up and she pulled him in for a hungry, bruising kiss. Lucifer groaned at the taste of her still on his lips, the incomparable feel of her slender body against his. She took him in hand and he pulled away to compose himself, rocking his forehead against hers in sheer disbelief for how easily she could take over all his senses. The steam around them rose, scented with eucalyptus from the few products she'd brought from his place - a small detail that showed the depth of her care - and he caught her mouth in another hard kiss, bucking up against her, seeking more. She teased at first, stroking him, setting the pace, letting him in only an inch, then two, then deeper -

_“You’re clean?” she asked, before letting him in the shower. He knew just what she meant. “I swear on my life,” he assured her, heart already palpitating at what it might mean._

\- until he was sinking in. She brought her arms around his neck, her thighs quivering as he took long, aching thrusts to seat himself into her, breathing in each others breaths. His mind was completely wiped: there was no before, no after, only this moment with the slick heat of her tight around him, only the way her breasts pushed into his chest. He pinned her hands to the wall and studied her face, rocking his hips, making her take all of him without any reprieve. She met his gaze head-on, no shame in her wantonness. He thrust impossibly deeper, and a small twinge of pain passed over her features. He let up minutely, unable to bring himself to do more than that. "You alright?" he asked.

She squirmed against him, seeking more. He readily provided. The small dip between her eyebrows appeared again, her eyes closing as her head fell back to the wall. _"Fuck,_ Lucifer. You're just -" another thrust, another twinge accompanied by her clenching around him, making him bite back a whine - "a _lot_ to take in."

Well, Lucifer hadn't ever said it wasn't a _well deserved_ ego. "Its alright," he soothed, letting a hand to dip between them. He chased away the hurt with languid, easy caresses. "That's it," he urged, watching her every expression. "You can take it." His cock throbbed at the feel of her opening up to him, each thrust becoming longer until he was losing himself in it. She held onto his shoulders as he increased the pace. Her leg inched up over his hip and he grabbed it, settling where she could rest and sinking in just that little bit more.

Lucifer lost himself. He started to thrust in earnest, burying himself in her, eliciting the most ravenous of sounds. Sex with Chloe was so much better than he could have ever imagined - than he ever could have hoped. She was warm and wet and wanted him, yes, but more than that. It made him far too full of unnamed emotions that kept getting clogged up in his throat whenever he wanted to tell her exactly how she felt, exactly how good she made him feel. His hands slid down to her lower back to gently direct her, and with each thrust he hoped somewhere between the roughness and the gentleness she would understand what he was trying to say. Anyone that ever came before her was inconsequential. Only she mattered, only what pleased her, only the sounds he could draw from her here, now.

And later. Definitely more later.

“Chloe,” he groaned. It wasn't enough, could never be enough. She dug her nails into his skin, and with a growl he lifted her, jolting her back against the wall. Quickly she wrapped both legs around him while his hands kneaded the strong muscle of her ass; she gasped into his ear and he relished the sound, chasing it down her throat, eager to hear it again and again. A new mantra began to form in his head, like a slowly forming star from nothing but dust and gas. _Anything for her. Anything for this._

Lucifer tucked his face into the curve of her throat. Her scent was strongest there, a mild and sweet combination of vanilla and sweat. A primal need desired to claim it for himself. Every hitching breath entered his mind and blocked out all else. _More. Need. Want._

_Mine._

Lucifer bit down, hard. It nearly broke the skin and Chloe cried out as she spasmed around him, skirting the precipice of pain and pleasure. He fucked her harder into the wall, surely leaving bruises that he would need to lavish care and attention upon later. He imagined them in the bed that had never had anyone else in it where he could splay her out on white, thousand thread count bed sheets and give every inch of her his full attention without restriction or limitation. He pressed apologetic, soothing kisses to the spot, blooming red and angry with teeth marks that he knew he shouldn't relish. He continued gently down her shoulder, easing himself to slow down, belatedly realizing it was the one where she’d taken the bullet, and vowed to remember to be more gentle there. There had been enough pain.

Something shifted and the pressure between them changed, making Lucifer groan against her and Chloe throw her head back before curling her body around his. She panted into his ear as her hands held on tightly, his name and nonsense sounds falling from her lips in a symphony building higher and higher, driving him harder, deeper, faster despite himself. He wanted to protect her, save her - wouldn't let anyone touch her, he would rather _die_ than see her hurt again - and, knowing their lines of work, that was a real possibility. She tugged on his hair enough to get him to kiss her again, teeth clacking, eager and rough, her tongue claiming his mouth and making him pulse with need below. He took her lower lip between his teeth. She moaned, low and filthy, and the sound reverberated inside him until he was nearly tipping over the edge. “Chloe,” he begged, heavy, coiled, desperate - maybe he should try to hold on longer, draw it out -

 _“Lucifer,”_ she breathed into his mouth, hands tangled and tugging at his hair and that sound, that sound he _knew_ now - “You're gonna make me -” and _fuck_ it was too much, but then she was shuddering and coming on his cock and Lucifer could feel only _her,_ everything was her - surrounding him, baptizing him, entering into every raw and blistered crack of the inner man he tried so valiantly to hide, the one utterly incapable of love and loving and who he'd thought of his true self for so long that even his own face felt like a mask. It was laughable to think anyone he’d had in the past could ever compare to Chloe coming apart in his arms and him suddenly doing the same, lost and spilling inside her, safe and loved in knowing she was _his_ , he was _hers_ , and nothing else mattered, nothing at all, so long as they were together.

And promises Lucifer made, he kept.

 

*

 

Six years ago Mazikeen “Smith” kidnapped the one person she shouldn't have. The mark was easy: some kid that was important to somebody for some reason. That's all she knew. Maze was an illegal immigrant to the Queen’s country, quick to violence and in the habit of not asking a lot of questions. It made her a perfect runner for the Arifs, who didn't look down on her darker skin like the British firms did and who hated foreigners like the Turks with a passion bordering on romantic. She got the intel, scooped up the kid when she was walking home from school (her bodyguards quickly dispatched by another with a couple shots from a 9mm - later she would think _too_ easily) and took her to the drop.

The kid didn't even scream. Maze appreciated that. There was something fierce about her, even though she couldn't have been older than nine. White (typical), a blunt cut of dark hair, comically large glasses on a round face, but her eyes - there was a determination there that could only come from the knowledge that Maze fucked up. That she'd fucked up _real_ bad.

As a result, Maze treated her with respect. She didn't manhandle her, yell at her, or even try to intimidate her. The girl was obviously frightened, because she was obviously smart. But when she arrived at the drop - a private hanger off an airstrip - after ensuring they had not been followed (of course), the men's gazes made her skin prickle.

She knew that look. She'd been on the receiving end enough times that it made her flee across a continent. They weren't in the business of human trafficking - Maze would have never sought out their protection if they were - so this was about something else. They looked at the kid like she was the ticket to something big.

Maze kept the girl behind her as she marched deeper inside, keeping a hand wrapped around her small arm if she attempted to do something foolish like flee. “What's your name, kid,” Maze asked, low.

“Azrael Morningstar,” the girl said, in a steady, even voice that betrayed posh upbringing.

Maze stopped. The name meant nothing to her, but something was wrong. The hanger was a wide space, open and empty save for the jet parked closer to one side and crates for storage strewn about, their contents on wheels to be easily moved. Couple of guys sat on them, feet dangling, rifles and shotguns loose in their laps. Confident.

“What's yours?” the girl asked, startling Maze.

“Mazikeen,” she told her, squaring naturally into a defensive stance. “But my friends call me Maze.”

“Maze,” Azrael repeated. “My friends call me Rae.”

Either the girl was a master manipulator or something in Maze was already strained near its limit, because she soon found herself looking around the room not to seek out the familiar but that which should not belong: the shotguns the men had were black eagle (auto loading) there were too few men (high profile, secretive), they were meeting at an unusual time and place (middle of the day), and the room reeked of fuel.

What kind of snatch-and-grab required a private jet?

 

*

 

Time was the thing they had the least of, but Lucifer seemed intent on savoring every second. Chloe could have only guessed what being intimate would Lucifer would be like, and while her fantasies ranged in depth and scope, they were always accompanied by a twinge of disbelief - surely they were her fantasies because they could never _really_ be real. Reality was rarely so kind.

Maybe the Universe was a gentler place than she’d given it credit for.

He’d asked if she were hungry, but thoughts of food were far from her mind. The towel he’d so carefully wrapped around her got lost somewhere in the hallway with his own, and they stumbled to the bedroom, unable to keep from touching one another, smiling, kissing, teasing. Chloe knew her hair frizzled a little when left to air dry, but she was positively spellbound by the curls she had no idea where hiding beneath the product he’d used to tame them, much to Lucifer’s present suffering. She laughed as she pulled on a strand, only to watch it pop and curl back into place, and in retaliation Lucifer tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Don’t tell me Mr. Shameless is embarrassed,” Chloe said, scooting back and propping up on her elbows. Lucifer dipped a knee onto the bed, then lightning-quick caught her own and pulled her toward him. She laughed again.

“Incorrigible,” he said, tsking even while placing a line of kisses up her thigh. “Whatever will I do with you?”

“I can think of a few things,” she said, stretching her arms up over her head, her back arching as he reached her stomach. And she tried - she really, really did - to keep her hands wandering only along his arms and shoulders as he kissed her skin softly, but then he was nuzzling the swell of her breast and she couldn’t help herself. Her fingers sunk into the curls, tugging gently as he moved from one to the other. She felt him smile against her and she did the same, amused. Maybe he liked them a little after all, or liked the fact that he didn't feel obligated to hide them from her. He looked up. His tender gaze surprised her, and she flushed, warm. Something in him had changed. Something between _them_ had changed. A small Chloe deep inside told her it couldn’t possibly last, but currently-in-control Chloe dumped a load of serotonin on her and told her to be quiet.

Whatever quip she was going to say was forgotten. She lifted up slightly, forcing him to do the same, then drew a line down his jaw. There was too much to say, the future too unknown, and so many questions to ask. They stumbled over one another in her chest, vying for attention.

They could wait.

Chloe rarely did things for herself. Rarely _took._ A mother’s lot, she supposed, to be forever expected to give - time, energy, sanity - and she was a civil _servant_ for goodness sakes, it was basically in the job description. But with Lucifer and the way he looked at her now, she realized that for all he took, he had been so rarely _given._ No matter what he told himself.

“Lay back,” she asked, touching his lips with her fingertips.

He followed her order without hesitation, gently falling onto pillows while she settled herself between his knees. One lifted against her protectively and she wrapped an arm around it, kissing the inside of his knee. With no need to rush, she studied the long expanse of him, preternaturally pale in the muted light. Dragging a finger from scar to scar, chest to stomach, she soon reached the one most personal to her, the one she’d stitched up herself. The line under his ribs was a scar now but fresh, pink and raised, and when she drew her finger over it the muscles in his stomach tightened.

“What is it?” he asked, voice soft.

She shook her head, unable to answer. Her fingers ghosted over his half-full cock, making his eyelashes flutter. _I could love you,_ she wanted to say. _I think I already do._

“I don’t like thinking of you hurt,” she finally said, sliding back against cool, white sheets. The movement prompted a small inhale, and his hips jerked when her breath met sensitive skin. She felt young, her touch unhurried. Even so, it rapidly roused him to full attention. “Lucifer,” she breathed against him, then licked a hot, flat stripe upward; his whole body moved with it like wave, cresting and falling. She licked her lips and let the head linger there. “Do you have any idea how important you are to me?”

His breathing picked up. “I can't say that I -”

Chloe broke eye contact to take him slowly into her mouth, all the way to the back of her throat before pulling up and off with a wet pop.

He swallowed, watching her with wide, curious eyes. “No,” he answered.

She smiled, devious, and peppered small kisses to his hips, a warm hand pumping him slowly. “When you picked me up from the hospital I knew.” She met his gaze before swallowing him down once more, certain that her jaw would be aching before they were through - and honestly looking a bit forward to it - before leaving him with a kiss. “I knew you were going to be in my life somehow. Did you?”

“I -” He shut his eyes and licked his lips, and Chloe hid a smile at the effect she was having on him.

“It's okay,” she said, when he didn't get any further. She hummed, taking only the head in her mouth while her hand sped up slightly. She let up after a few moments, and Lucifer's hands briefly clenched into fists. “I dreamed about doing this, after that first time at your club. When you put your arm around me.”

He bit his lip as his hips pushed up, seeking more. “You were quite delightfully drunk, if I recall.”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “and you made me so fucking wet. I came that night to the thought of you heavy and full in my mouth.” His fingers dug into the sheets. “Relax,” she urged. “I'm going to take care of you.”

 _“Chloe”_ was the last word he managed.

 

*

 

The fighting started long before the cops arrived. They arrived in the middle of a bloodbath - and quite literally, too, if Maze had anything to do with it. She’d tossed the girl high into a jungle gym of shelving and told her to hide, and she didn’t need to be told twice. By the time the last unfortunate cop had entered the building the focus had turned to them, and Maze limped over to where she had last seen Rae, streaming blood behind her from a bullet hole in her left thigh all the while. The girl poked her head out, thankfully unhurt, and jumped into Maze’s waiting arms. They made it out of the hanger without being seen.

They were not so lucky outside. Two sleek, black beemers waited just out of reach of the police presence, surrounded by heavily armed men who were decidedly _not_ cops, and Rae broke away to run to an older man who showed absolutely no interest in comforting the girl. Guns were raised; Maze braced for impact.

It never came.

Instead she succumbed to the pain and blood loss and when she woke again it was in a room she didn’t recognize and to the face of man who she had seen only once. He had a file in his lap, and his fingers ran over it as though they might a fine silk.

“I believe I have a job for you,” he said.

 

*

 

Chloe slipped into Lucifer’s previously discarded shirt, still thankfully dry while her jeans did not suffer the same fate, and as midnight approached she was finally able to convince him they should probably eat something. After that she was going to sleep like the dead, because her legs were wobbly after more orgasms than she’d ever had in one relative sitting and she was _sore._ A good sore, to be sure. But if Lucifer was intent on keeping her up all night he had another thing coming.

They had time, she reminded him, even as he whined getting out of bed.

She had to work harder to get Lucifer to put on clothes, but at least he caved into wearing the ridiculous silk boxers and pajama pants she’d found in the labyrinth that was his penthouse closet. He followed her as far as the hall to the kitchen before watching her head to the fridge, alone.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” she told him. “So I got a bunch of stuff that I like, and figured you’d just have to deal with it.” She shot a smile over her shoulder, but then couldn’t read the look on his face. “What is it?” She held up a carton of eggs. “You’re not a breakfast-for-dinner kind of guy? Because I can make a mean Denver omelette.” She frowned. “Maybe onions are bad idea. I didn’t think to bring a toothbrush.”

“Would you make it in the morning?” he asked.

“Of course,” she answered easily, knowing what the real question was. _Will you be here in the morning?_ “Whenever.”

With her assurance, he finally joined her. She straightened from taking a debating look inside the fridge only to have him at her back, and with gentle strength he wrapped his arms around her. It was slightly too tight to be anything but a cage. She gave him a moment, leaning back and enjoying the warmth.

“Lucifer.” She ran a soothing thumb over his bare forearm. “I’m not going anywhere.” But, as though intent of breaking the spell, Chloe heard her phone buzz from the other room. She sighed. “Okay. Let’s keep that statement pending,” she said, pulling herself from his embrace and heading quickly to retrieve it.

 

*

 

There was a moment of silence while Chloe read the text. The home might as well have been a cathedral, Lucifer thought - to hubris, excess, a dead life - so the silence was quite fitting. Chloe returned slowly, far too serious to be wearing little more than his half-buttoned shirt.

“My brother’s work, I assume?”

The phone buzzed twice more. She continued to frown at the screen, then responded in rapid-fire. He could swear he _felt_ her heart rate pick up, but she was an expert at remaining cool under pressure.

“I told you, detective.” He begged her to look at him, but she only glanced up. Was she afraid of what she might see, as he was? “It couldn’t be good.”

“No it’s - I’m sorry. There’s... ”

The look on her face worried him. It wasn’t the usual mix of fascination and wariness he came across on the rare occasion someone he didn’t want to know about his past caught a glimpse of what lay behind his name. “What is it?”

Another text. She paled. “I have to go.”

“Detective?” he asked, as she marched past. Then she remembered herself and turned around, heading back toward the bathroom.

“Lucifer it’s - it’s fine,” she said, rounding the corner. _Lying._ “The babysitter isn’t feeling well. I need to go home.”

Years of conditioning threatened to rear its ugly head: no one can be trusted, so you should never trust anyone. But Lucifer roused to action before the thought could complete itself. This was _Chloe._ It wasn’t supposed to be like that anymore. He met her just as she was buttoning her jeans and blocked her exit by bracing himself in the doorway. “Tell me what’s going on. And don’t lie to me.”

He hadn’t intended the last bit to come out as harsh as it did, and even he winced at the tone.

She stared up at him. _Fear._ He’d know it anywhere, and had no intention of keeping it on her face any longer. She handed him the phone and he quickly scrolled through the last series of texts, stopping only when he landed on the picture.

Lucifer’s blood didn’t just boil - it spontaneously evaporated.

Chloe’s resolve crumbled. “Herrera has Trixie.”

 

*

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this at _all._

The file folders containing all the L.A.P.D. had on one Lucifer Morningstar curled in on themselves as they burned at her feet. A little bribery, a couple concussions here and there and Maze was out of the precinct faster than a bat out of hell. Or a demon, as Lucifer called her. His demon. His Maze. Fitting, she thought. No matter how he searched, he could never know the real her, the center of her being, not really. Hell, she hardly knew herself. But in all their time together she had only lied to him once.

_“Did my father send you?”_

She watched the blackening edges of the papers send swirling tendrils of oily smoke into the night.

_“No.”_

Safe. That's what she promised his father. If that meant picking him up when he fell, she was there. If that meant keeping him from sabotaging himself, she did it. His father kept her secret - her past - from his son, and she wouldn't have needed more than that to offer him her allegiance. Once she knew who the family was, the fact that he was willing to keep her involvement in the scheme private meant more to her than her life, for she knew that men like Lucifer didn't forget and never forgave. But he gave her more than that. Papa Morningstar offered her a new life. Untraceable identity. Money. A way to hide in plain sight. And Lucifer.

He gave her Lucifer.

He'd always thought he was the one benefiting most from their arrangement. She didn't think it really ever occurred to him to question what she was getting out of it. Their - dare she say - friendship. Sure, power, prestige, shiny new toys were part of it, but as the years went on those things became less important. It had happened gradually enough that when Lucifer announced his intention to let it all go, she looked at the life she'd acquired and all she had worked so hard for and realized that she'd been slowly heading in that direction all along. But Lucifer - what he wanted was rash, impulsive, untrustworthy, _typical_. Complete cut off. To her his “retirement plan” seemed like severing a limb - no security, no future, no hope.

So, she panicked.

And now she was paying the price. A servant with too many masters, and Maze was lost inside her own labyrinth of deceit.

Tucked beside her CZ 75 - a trusty _Shadow_ in her rear holster - her phone began to buzz.

 

*

 

The church was little more than a shell of itself; the fire had ensured it. Even from the outside Chloe feel its hollowness. There was no God in these burnt walls, no higher power looking over her daughter inside. She screeched up to the empty parking lot, illuminated by a single sodium-yellow street light on an otherwise abandoned street, riddled with potholes and long-closed, dusty storefronts.

Chloe had never felt more alone.

The tried the front door, but it was chained and didn’t budge. Whatever frantic energy got her this far slowly dissipated into a numb resoluteness as she circled the building, searching for an entrance. She’d seen it happen to rookies, especially. When all the available adrenaline had been used up, they went from fast to slow, and that was usually deadly. Chloe didn’t have the luxury of disassociating. Not now. Not with the only thing that mattered at stake.

A side door was, thankfully, unlocked, and Chloe took in a breath before pushing it open.

“Mommy!” came a startled cry.

Chloe whipped her head around. On the altar sat Herrera and Trixie, all respect or any sense of reverence for what the place had once been out the window. Only an awkwardly hanging crucifix behind them remained somewhat intact. The building groaned when the door shut behind her. “I’m here, monkey,” Chloe said carefully, blinking back tears. She made no move to rush Herrera, and hoped that Trixie would someday forgive her for that.

Herrera had his arm around her child’s shoulders like a beloved uncle, and a gun in his lap. “Guess you’re alone.”

The coldness behind his words frightened her more than the image itself. “No. I’m here first.”

Herrera took this into consideration. Even in the low light through the high, stained glass windows he looked ragged, hair unkempt, his dress shirt wrinkled and soiled. Unhinged. His eyes darted back and forth.

Chloe dared take a step closer, putting her hands up as she did so. “There’s no need for violence. Lucifer was right behind me.”

It was a lie, and she hoped she was a better actor under pressure.

Herrera laughed. He scratched at his temple with the butt of his gun, making Chloe’s heart leap.

“Lieutenant,” Chloe hedged, hoping his title might bring him back from whatever edge he was flirting. Trixie’s eyes were wide and glittering. “He will be here. You can count on it. Tell me what’s going on.”

There was a brief jangle from down the aisle and the front doors burst open, the explosive sound echoing through the once-sacred space and making Herrera jump down, still holding tightly onto Trixie. The doors hit the walls behind them and swung back around as Lucifer tossed the bolt cutters aside with a loud thump and strode quickly forward - too quickly for Chloe’s liking, making Herrera tighten his grip. Apparently his delay was caused by his desire to change. Chloe grit her teeth and hoped it was for a damn good reason. “This is between us, Thomas, so I suggest you let the child go.”

Herrera moved the gun from pointing at Lucifer to place at Trixie’s temple, making Lucifer stop in his tracks halfway down the aisle like some reluctant bride.

“Trixie,” Chloe urged. “Monkey look at me, baby. Everything’s going to be okay. Just stay still, okay?”

Herrera shook his head and laughed again. “Can you _believe,_ out of everything, this is what _the Devil_ fears. It's not the destruction of the innocent, is it?” He squeezed Trixie to him, making her breath catch in the smallest of sounds that managed to pierce Chloe’s heart. Lucifer took half a step forward. “No. Nothing so grand. So you’re just a man after all.”

“Let her go, and we can discuss this.” Lucifer didn’t sound like he was about to ask twice.

“Why are you doing this?” Chloe asked, unable to keep the strain from her voice.

Herrera gestured with his gun. “You know what he is? What his family is? What they’ve done?”

Lucifer took a step forward. “I am not responsible for any of that.”

“Oh, you are,” Herrera’s voice dragged. “You all are. You all think you rule the world, high on your pedestals, untouchable. You think can buy freedom. Security. You think you can go in with _my_ passcodes and erase everything you’ve done. Erase everything you are with the push of button, like it’s _so_ easy, _so_ simple.” He chuckled, low and deep, while his smile was bright.

“I don’t.”

Lucifer’s words caught Herrera off guard. He took a step back while Lucifer pushed forward.

“You think me responsible for my family’s failings. I’m not. Everything I have done, _that_ I will take responsibility for. But I do not understand your beef with me, Herrera. What made you put a target on my back all this time?”

Herrera raged. He shoved Trixie into Chloe, who knelt down and tried her best to utterly encompass her child while still trying to keep an eye on the two men ahead of her. There was no way she was going to leave Lucifer. Not now.

“ _You,_ ” Herrera sneered, holding the gun high and staying just outside of arm’s reach. “You think this is about _you._ ”

“Well as much as I appreciate the Carly Simon reference, I believe you’re not answering my question.” His gaze fixed. “You must realize you’re not getting out of this alive. At least have the common courtesy to tell me why you’ve been so insistent in your pursuit.”

Lucifer had a plan. She hoped. It certainly didn't appear that he had a weapon - not that he ever carried one, far as she could tell. No, he always relied on - 

“See, that’s just it,” Herrera said, gun shaking. Chloe kept Trixie’s face buried in her neck and hoped that the litany of prayers she was sending up was getting heard by someone, somewhere. “ _Morningstar._ Your connections were reason enough to try and keep you from getting a foothold in my city. Do you realize how many families, how many groups, already think they’re entitled to a piece of the pie here? If I could keep _one_ less family, one less _mobster_ , one less _gang_ from the streets then I could consider myself successful. But no. You - your _kind_ , you swarm like locusts. You just take and take and take.” 

A single shot rang out.

_Maze?_

Lucifer jerked.

Trixie jumped in her arms; Chloe’s hands flew up to both shield her daughter and cover her mouth, her stomach immediately and instinctively seeking to empty itself of its contents. If only she had her gun. If only Herrera hadn’t ensured her suspension.

He must have been planning this for a long time. And he didn’t seem to care that Chloe knew it. Which meant he had probably also planned on her not being around to report it.

Lucifer fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Chloe had seen plenty of bodies. She’d never witnessed a murder before.

The door was behind her - how far she couldn’t tell. She knew she could never outrun a bullet, but maybe if she kept Trixie in front of her, she could get her out the door before - before he turned to her, gun raised.

One shot, a familiar pop. But no pain. Herrera jerked like a rag doll on a string. A sickening string of small explosions, _pop, pop, pop,_ until he was flailing, collapsing, _pop, pop, pop, pop._ Herrera fell to his knees as Maze moved past her, gun raised and smoking. Three more shots. Herrera on the floor. She stood over Herrera’s still-breathing body. Chloe rose, holding her limp daughter in her arms, the child’s feet dangling, and watched as Maze put another five bullets directly into Herrera’s face, brain and bone bursting apart until there was nothing left to recognize and the gun clicked several times, empty.

Maze tucked it away and kneeled down.

“Is he -” Chloe dared.

“He’s alive,” came a short reply. “Thank _fuck_ he’s alive. I will fucking kill you if you don’t fucking live.” Her head popped up over the pews. "Don’t stand there, call a fucking ambulance!”

Chloe laid her daughter out in a pew and covered her with her jacket, then did as asked. All her movements were remote, unfeeling; she could not move faster if she tried. She spoke professionally to the dispatch, giving her badge number and location, then kneeled on Lucifer's other side. Maze had her elbows locked and full weight pressing down on Lucifer's stomach. Chloe hung up, watching the blood bloom across his white shirt.

Maze looked like she wanted to slap his unconscious face. "I got him this vest two years ago," she told Chloe, who listened silently, "and he was always on about not needing it, how it'd ruin his lines, sure you know what else ruins a suit, asshole? _Bullet holes._ " She let out a string of curse words decidedly not in English.

Chloe put her hands over hers. "You should go. Before."

Maze stared at Lucifer's slack face for a few moments longer, then nodded, reluctant. She let Chloe take over then stood, though with much less fluidity than Chloe had come to expect from her. She looked down at the scene at her feet. "If he -"

"I won't let him."

 

*

 

_First, there was darkness. Lucifer came back to himself slowly, enthralled by its completeness: sound was muted, like his ears had been stuffed, but he knew he had ears, somehow, and fingers and toes and a tongue and body, though they were all quite far away. He could feel it stirring, but the closer it got the heavier it became. There was so much bone and muscle beneath its surface, blood and water. How had he ever moved it? It was pinned to the Earth._

_No. Beneath the Earth._

_Lucifer took in a deep inhale, frightened into being by the prospect of waking in a grave. But then there was another kind of pressure on his hand, and he focused on it until he could feel his eyes turning toward it, and soon he was inhabiting his body again, the aether left behind._

_Then, there was light._

He blinked, focusing. Shadows filtered in until he could open them without hurting. A single lamp lit up the room behind her, and beyond that, a closed door. Instinctively, he knew it was night.

“Look who’s back,” Chloe whispered. Her hand squeezed his, and he offered her what pressure he could in return. “Thank God you’re okay.”

And, for once, he didn’t argue. He slipped back into darkness, sure now that it didn't want to swallow him whole.

 

*

 

Lucifer woke again, briefly, to find the room empty save for Maze, who stood with her back to the door, as though afraid to get closer. His throat was parched, and he struggled to moisten his tongue, but he wasn’t about to ask her to play nursemaid - not in a million years.

“Mazikeen.”

“You were right,” she said, before he could say any more. “You were right about wanting out.”

 

*

 

Minutes became days, hours became seconds; nothing mattered except the times he woke to find someone at his bedside.

One time it was Dan, who appeared quite deep into slumber, judging by the drool stain blooming on the visitor's chair. Lucifer huffed out a pained laugh and thought better than to wake him.

 

*

 

“Trixie!”

_Thump._

Lucifer groaned. The girl paid no mind as she shoved him to make more room for herself. Lucifer actually appreciated that - he'd been being treated as fragile for far too long. He opened his eyes one at a time to find the bright light of day streaming through the windows beyond his room, and he had enough strength and wherewithal to pull himself more upright. Chloe hurried into the room behind her daughter and gestured for her to get out of the bed.

“It’s quite alright, detective,” he told her. Trixie snuggled under his arm, then looked up at him and beamed. “Hello again, small one.”

The look on Chloe’s face was all it took to make him want to get out of that bed, and fast.

Turns out, willfulness was one of Lucifer’s strongest suits.

 

*

 

_Eleven weeks later._

Lucifer strolled out of One Police Plaza and into the bright Los Angeles sunshine with renewed focus. There were still too many unanswered questions; too many things left unfinished. Herrera didn't have Green killed, they were sure of that now. But that left a player in the game Lucifer had no knowledge of, and that he could not abide. He flipped open the silver cigarette case and tapped one out against the heel of his palm. Like good sex, a good plan required a smoke afterward; both carried the same thrill. He lit up and took a long drag, gazing up into the cloudless, blue sky.

If God were Judge and Jury, then the Devil had to be Executioner, surely. Lucifer had always thought himself an enabler, a professional temper, the middle man to desire and excess. The city was so full of those willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted. It was one thing to desire sex, drugs, a good time. Those people hurt no one in their search, and he certainly wasn’t going to punish anyone for making their own choices.

But those who took the choice away from others? Whose greed and lust and vanity led them to end lives in the pursuit of more?

Chloe stepped beside him, slipping on her shades against the light. “Ready, partner?”

Lucifer grinned, blowing tendrils of smoke from his nose.

The underworld had no idea what was coming for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. All the feedback and comments you all have given me as we've gone along have been wonderful and I am so, so appreciative. Thank you!


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